


Suicide Squad: Round Two

by Kako_Pumpkin



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Gen, Guest appearances, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kako_Pumpkin/pseuds/Kako_Pumpkin
Summary: Somebody should have told a bunch of murdering misfits that a team is one thing. Family? Well, family takes work.Zoe Lawton's letters stop coming. Then Rick Flag disappears trying to find out what happened, and June Moon shows up at Belle Reve for a very shady, very urgent jailbreak.Looks like the Suicide Squad rides again...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this story deserves a bit of an explanation. I wrote most of this on the high of my finishing the first draft of As the Days Turn, trying to complete it for my Nanowrimo '16. It didn't end up being long enough, and I struggled very hard to figure out what I was trying to do with the story. So I tried going back to the start - why did I start writing this? I thought about all the things I loved about the movie - the flashy violence, the unapologetic and massive plot convenience, the hearts of gold beneath the jackass exteriors. I wanted another extension of that - I wanted another Suicide Squad movie. So here we have it - Suicide Squad: Round Two. Please be prepared for everything the movie gave us: contrived plot convenience, disposable bad guys, guest appearances, almost all the lead up action happening off screen, and some villains who need to be emotionally manipulated into doing good.
> 
> I'd apologise for the hot mess...but I've come to accept that's what my subconscious actually wanted out of this story. I got a bit of a kick reading back over it, and I hope you'll enjoy it too. :-)

Floyd didn't know it at the time, but his first indication that something was seriously wrong was when he only got four letters from his daughter instead of the usual seven. He chalked it up to the guards going back to being active assholes instead of the nice, passive assholes he'd been assigned after Midway and made life for them as painfully irritating as possible, safe in the knowledge that he'd get _ten_ letters the following Saturday.

No letters came that week.

_That's_ when he lost his shit.

Tasering him didn't work. Starving him, beating him, depriving him of sleep didn't shut him up. He brought the roof down, tore apart anybody who came near him, made more noise than Harkness on a bad day, yelling for that double-crosser Waller, and that shit-for-brains Flag, until finally, _finally,_ something happened.

He was in the middle of verbally tearing through the guard on the other side of his door when the hatch slid open with a sharp click. Flag himself was on the other side, frowning.

_"Well,"_ said Floyd, leaning in with both hands on his door. "How nice of you to drop by. Where the fuck have you been? We had a deal, Flag, I get my letters, I get my calls -"

"Lawton, what the hell are you on about?" interrupted Flag. "You've been getting your letters."

Floyd nearly spat through the hole in the door. "Like hell. Like hell, you've gotta be kiddin' me, I've been double-crossed, you tell your boss -"

_"Lawton,"_ Flag interrupted him again, sharply, and oh boy did Floyd feel like punching him in that all-American pretty boy face of his. "You've been getting every damn letter that's been picked up by the mail room. I've checked all the slots myself, there's been nothing in the PO Box. Nothing signed off on, no deliveries, no letters, no double-crossing. Can't deliver letters that don't exist."

Floyd just stared at the other man. "You tellin' me my baby girl - who writes fuckin' _religiously,_ every damn day - you tellin' me that all of a sudden she's stopped writing me letters? Just like that? Nah - nah, you foolin'. There's no way."

His stomach boiled when he caught a trace of sympathy flicker in Flag's face; it made him punch the door, which in turn made the other man let loose a rough sigh.

"Kids are busy," Flag tried. "She's in her new school, making friends, taking classes. Life on the outside - that eats up time."

Floyd punched the door again, letting the noise resound around the room as he jabbed a furious finger at Flag.

"You listen here, soldier boy," he snarled. "My baby sends me a letter _every. Goddamn. DAY_. Last week I got _four_ letters, this week I got _none._ You telling me that's normal? You telling me that my sweet girl all of a sudden stopped sending letters for _ten straight days?_ Ten? _Ten?_ I don't fuckin' think so."

"What are you trying to say, Lawton?" asked Flag, in an undertone. But he was taking Floyd seriously; there was uncertainty in those eyes, concern in the deepening frown on his face.

"I'm saying you've met my girl," said Floyd. "I'm saying that you've met my Zoe. You know the kinda girl she is - she ain't _nothin'_ like me. If there was dictionary of opposites we'd have a nice family photo for the Christmas card. So you think it's all peaches and fuckin' cream, that she hasn't sent me any letters for ten. Goddamn. _Days?"_

Flag didn't answer. His eyes flicked down and away, his frown became etched like charcoal into his face, the harsh light from the prison bulbs carving him up like stone.

"I'll look into it," was all he said, and then the hatch slid shut again, just as sharply as when it had opened. Floyd stared at it for a few moments, speechless.

"Oh, you'll look into it," he said to the door, spreading his arms, antagonising the no-longer present Colonel. _"Well._ You'll look into it, you'll look _into_ it. Well, that's good, that's fucking great, you'll look _into_ it, that's nice. _Fuck_ you, Flag! Fuck you!"

Four more days passed. Twice his guards swarmed his cell and sedated him, heavily; he spent those days in a heavy daze of drug-induced dreaming, bad crash following bad crash. The walls melted, the floors dropped away, his skin was filled with acid, his baby was stuck somewhere and he couldn't reach her, just knew she was in trouble and he was on the wrong side of a cell door, near-insensate on the concrete floor.

Then, after who knew how long stuck at the end of another drug-dream, Floyd's chest rippled with an arctic chill, and his nose and mouth filled with the scent of fresh earth, wet from rain. His aches and pains were chased away, his mind cleared, his mouth and lips healed from the cracks and dryness of forced dehydration. His head though - his head still swam and swam like he was underwater, and he shook himself, hard, trying to scramble to his feet, trying to get his bearings.

A thin hand clasped his shoulder, bony and much stronger than it looked. Floyd's vision cleared at last; his stomach settled and the taste of earth disappeared, the chill leaving him. That said though, he might still have been hallucinating, still drugged up, because what he found himself looking at made no sense at all.

It was June Moon, Flag's little girlfriend, and his Squad's former target. She looked as unhealthily thin as she did the last time Floyd had seen her, although now she was dressed in regular clothing and wasn't covered in mud.

"What the fuck," he said, because after the couple of weeks he'd been having, 'hello' had basically been scourged from his vocabulary.

Moon swallowed, moving away from him and folding her arms against her body. But her eyes - they were made of steel. Floyd knew that look, he'd seen it in the mirror sometimes, before a hit that he wasn't sure he could make, but damn if he had to make it anyway. The little woman _wanted_ something, and she was ready to make hell on anybody who told her no. All the good that determination would do her, though, since Floyd was a great deal stronger than her, not to mention -

"Wait," he said, and looked around. The lights were off, but he could see perfectly; the room was filled with untraceable brightness. The cell door was wide open; he strode over to it and walked straight outside. Not a guard in sight. All the bulbs down the hall hummed noisily like they were working just fine, but none of them were emitting any light. In fact, the whole place seemed to be greyed-out, like an old photograph or illustration. Something kept flickering in the corner of his eye and he turned sharply to catch the movement, only to find Moon directly behind him, as pale as copy paper, staring at him with dark, dark eyes. Behind her, the hall was all shadow, and the shadows were _moving._

"What the _fuck,"_ he said.

"I need your help," said Moon, and there was a faint bell-like quality to her voice; it rang faintly in his ears, like they were talking in a big echoing dome instead of a narrow concrete hallway.

"You need my help," he repeated dumbly, staring at her. "You need _my_ help. What the fuck - what the _fuck -"_

"Rick is missing," she interjected. "He's been missing since he left for Gotham four days ago, after his meeting with you. He went to find your daughter."

Floyd's throat dried out, his ribcage constricted. Zoe, _Zoe,_ the only good thing he'd ever contributed to this shithole of a world, his baby girl, the sole thing that kept his jaded heart beating most days. And when Flag had said he'd look into it, he'd _really_ looked into it. Flag had gone to see if Zoe was all right. Because Floyd asked. Because he'd believed Floyd, when Floyd had told him that something was wrong.

If Flag was with Zoe, then Zoe was gonna be okay. Never mind that the idiot could barely protect himself back in Midway with the number of times he'd nearly been kidnapped; Flag was a soldier and a soft heart. Nothing was gonna happen to Zoe. Except that the letters had stopped for _ten_ days before he'd even realised anything was wrong. And now Rick Flag, mister all-American, was missing. In _Gotham._

"Then what the fuck are we waiting for?" he said. "Suicide Squad rides again."

~~~~~

They went to Croc next. Floyd almost thought the reptile man was sleeping, what with the deep, deep growls coming through from behind the bars, but then Croc stepped heavily towards them, slowly blinking with those creepy double-eyelids as he examined the two of them.

"If it a prison break, count me out," said Croc, looming at them. "I got all I need in here."

Floyd just nodded amiably, like he totally understood the attraction the guy had to the stinking dark hole filled with rotten bones, widescreen and BET aside.

"A'right, a'right, that's fine," he said. "It's not a prison break, Killer, just temporary bail. Flag's missing, in Gotham -"

Floyd nearly jumped back when Croc growled, low, dangerous, and guttural. The reptilian teeth, stunted, sharp, and shiny yellow, bared at them from between the bars.

"I ain't goin' back there," said Croc. "I ain't goin' back to Gotham. They _monsters_ in Gotham."

Floyd stared. What the hell could _Killer Croc_ be afraid of?

"Croc, they monsters _everywhere,"_ he said, finally. "That's why we're _in_ prison."

Croc just grunted, moving away from the bars, slipping back into the darkness. 

"Naw, Lawton," he said, voice echoing faintly. He was now completely invisible, deep inside the cell. "The _real_ monsters are out _there._ 'S why _I'm_ in prison, 's why I stay where I belong. 'S why you should, too - ain't that right, shawty?"

Floyd didn't give Moon a chance to answer; he grabbed the bars of the cell door and rattled them angrily.

"Goddammit, Croc, my baby girl's in Gotham!" he snapped. "Something went wrong two weeks ago - Flag said he'd look into it and now _he's_ gone, too!"

Croc didn't reply. Moon sighed - the hairs rose up on the back of Floyd's neck as he watched her skin grow even paler, her tiny veins beginning to blush black.

"We don't have time," she said, and the voice didn't _quite_ belong to her. Floyd jumped back now, trying to put some distance between her and his extremely vulnerable frame.

"What the _hell!"_ he snapped. "I thought we killed you! I _saw_ it, I saw your heart -"

The eyes that turned to him were definitely human - there was too much fear and sadness in them to belong to anything else. Floyd stopped up short; suddenly she looked like the little frail woman Flag had picked up from beneath the cracked mud, shaken and hollow after the possession had been ripped from her. Except the veins were darkening still, and the shadows rippled around her, along with a faint, faint breeze that smelled of fresh earth.

"Enchantress is dead," she said. "But her powers came from something else, and they haven't - they haven't _gone away -"_

Floyd didn't even know where to start with that crazy. Where was he even supposed to _start -_

"Okay, okay...let me get this straight -" He pointed a finger at her. "Enchantress is dead, her power is still around. Whatever is left of her is - it's in you. So...like, you're a _witch_ or something now? Just...that's just how it is with you now? Magic powers?"

Moon's arms folded around her again. "I didn't want it to be like this," she said, half-defensively. "I thought - everything was back to normal. Waller had a bunch of tests done, there was no trace of the energy. I don't even have the meta-human gene, I don't know _why_ I'm like this, I just _am."_

"And when the hell did all -" He waved his hands vaguely. _"This_ happen?"

His blood ran cold when she answered.

"About two weeks ago," she explained tiredly. "I started dreaming again. I don't remember the dreams, but the magic - the _changes_ \- started happening. I don't really know what I'm doing, but it's like...instinct. Like breathing. The magic _wants_ to be used; it's alive, it, it has a _heartbeat_ or something. It wasn't like with the Enchantress - I was making things grow, not decay. I could _build_ as well as destroy. But - but these last few days -"

"Flag's gone," said Floyd. It was like his hindbrain was connecting dots, but the dots weren't just in another language - they were fucking invisible too. He must have hit his mark as usual though, since Moon - aka Enchantress Mk II - nodded sadly.

"I know I have to be the one to control it," she said, low. "It's my responsibility. I let the witch out, I was watching when she destroyed Midway. But Rick...he's so calm. It makes things easier, to have someone that doesn't treat you like...like a _freak._ Even with the powers getting stronger, I felt like a _person_ with him, instead of a monster."

She fell silent, and Floyd's brain turned and turned. Two weeks ago. When Zoe's letters had stopped. Now Flag had disappeared in Gotham.

"It's not just a lazy mailman," he said, even though, deep in his gut, he'd always known that. "There's somethin' _in_ Gotham, isn't there. Like, a crazy somethin'. Like Midway."

Moon swallowed, but she nodded after a moment. "I don't know how to explain it. But when Rick disappeared, it was like a compass was pointing towards Gotham, composed of every fibre of my being. Maybe the - powers would have stayed dormant, if whatever it was hadn't come along. But there's magic sleeping in the earth, and someone is trying to do something very, very bad."

Floyd ground his teeth and furiously rubbed the back of his head with both hands. "Why the hell hasn't Waller done anything?" he said, half to himself. "That sounds right up our alley. 'S what she did in Midway, wasn't it? Round us up, send us in. What's different?"

Moon shrugged. "I don't know. But we're running out of time. We need to go tonight - I can send a spell of distraction, but my abilities aren't fine-tuned. Sooner or later someone will notice."

"And how 'bout these things in our neck, huh?" said Floyd, jabbing his thumb at his jugular. "What's stopping Waller from just detonatin' these things once we set foot outside Belle Reve?"

At that question, Moon suddenly shifted, her eyes slipping to the side. She was about to lie, and Floyd didn't have time for that. So he took a couple of steps forward and loomed as best he could, trying to ignore the primeval tremors running up and down his spine as her shadows flickered violently in the corners of her eyes.

"I wanna save my daughter," he said warningly. "You wanna save your boy. So don't waste my time with bullshit, Moon - are you working with Waller?"

"No!" Moon exclaimed, but then she hesitated. "I...I'm not sure."

"The hell -" Floyd stared, incredulous. "How do you not _know -"_

"It was very ambiguous!" exclaimed Moon quickly, looking chagrined. "I went to her about Rick, about my powers, and she just _looked_ at me and said: 'Too bad you can't teleport, and that visiting hours are over. You might have been able to convince the Squad to help you out. Not that I'd ever sign off on anything like a mission to Gotham.'"

Floyd felt his eyebrows rise. "...that sure as hell sounds like she's signing off on a mission."

"Right?" said Moon, now pressing her hands together. "And then she said, 'I didn't sign off on Flag going either, and it'd be a pity if something happened to my best Colonel. He was a good motivation for the Squad.'"

"Why's she callin' it the Squad?" asked Floyd, frowning. Last time around it was 'Taskforce X' this, 'Taskforce X' that. And she was already talking about Flag in the past tense. Oh, like _hell_ she didn't know what was going on. But - and this was what sent nervous tremors through the bottom of Floyd's gut - whatever it was, even _Waller_ couldn't do anything about it. And Flag clearly had disobeyed orders to go there. _To find Zoe._

"Deadshot -" His attention was drawn back to Moon, who had straightened her shoulders but still retained anxiety up and down her body language. She took a deep breath and held his eye as she spoke.

"Something's _wrong_ in Gotham, something that not even Waller can do anything about. Please, please, I - I can't lose Rick. I _can't."_

"I'm goin' to find Zoe," said Floyd, but he scratched the back of his head, annoyed at the sight of this eldritch-infused skinny white girl in front of him, primeval power at her fingertips but still begging for help. He growled angrily. "But Flag's gonna be where Zoe is. If he knows what's _good_ for him, he'll be where Zoe is. So yeah, I'll help you. But if it comes out I've gotta choose, Moon, you know which one I'm picking. Got that?"

Moon nodded eagerly, her relief evident in the soothing of the shadows that had snuck up around them in jagged chunks. They sunk down from the walls and pooled at her feet, radiating contentment, like a bunch of cats who knew that eventually, with patience, they were gonna get the cream. He couldn't help but grimace at the sight, even knowing there was nothing else he could do about it; he'd sell his own soul for his baby girl and get into bed with any monster.

Speaking of which...

"'Ey, Croc," he called, sauntering back to the man's cell door. The interior exuded darkness, but Croc had to be in there somewhere. Floyd rattled the bars, aiming for some kind of reaction. There was nothing; but then again, why would there be? With a face like that Killer must have been long-used to getting whistled at.

"C'mon, man," he tried instead. "Ain't you got a heart? My baby girl's in Gotham."

This elicited a dark, rumbling chuckle from deep within the cell, followed by heavy footsteps as Croc slowly walked back into the light. Those creepy sharp teeth were bared in an awful smile, and Floyd got the feeling he was being sized up - but not for a fight. Plenty a'protein on him, and he'd make a nice change from goat, wouldn't he?

"I had a heart," he said. "Broke it. _Ate_ it. Buried what was left."

How had Floyd forgotten the cannibalism part of the file? It had swum beneath so many other horrific details of that day, but it hadn't been washed away by time; it lurked beneath the dark surface of his thoughts until it was ready to dart up and make itself known, violently.

"Ain't nothin' in Gotham for me, Lawton," Croc continued. "Gotham _made_ me. Gotham _broke_ me. Now I belong to me, ain't nobody tell me what I am, what I should be."

"I ain't tryin' to do shit, nothing like that," said Floyd. "I'm asking for help, Croc. My little girl's done nothing bad her whole life. She's all I got. Don't you got _anythin'?_ Can't say you don't got _anythin',_ Croc, c'mon."

"Got cable," allowed Croc. Floyd growled.

"Nah, not like that," he snapped. "C'mon, man, even Boomerang's got that weird unicorn thing goin' on. What've you got? What'll make you help me out here?"

Croc stared at Floyd, his eyes narrowing like he was actually considering Floyd's question.

"I ain't got nothin'," he said, finally. "That's all there is now. Nothin'."

It hit Floyd then, like a ton of bricks - Croc really didn't have anything. Because he _had_ had something. 

"I'm real sorry to hear that," said Floyd quietly, and he found himself being sincere about it. Floyd knew with every inch of his being that he didn't deserve a kid, let alone somebody as good and sweet as Zoe, but he was wildly selfish beneath the love he had for her. He'd never let her suffer, never stand by and let her walk through life thinking that she was alone, because deep down he knew that this was his only shot. His only chance to be happy, and it was complete accident - there was no god, because god would never have let a man like Floyd Lawton be blessed with an angel like Zoe. And he knew he was running on borrowed time, before she grew up and _really_ understood what it was her daddy did.

Happiness had to be grabbed and held on to tightly, greedily, before it had a chance to slip away. It's neck had to be strung out, and it had to be subdued, to be worked into the shape killers and devils and hitmen needed it to be. Diablo had known that. Hell, even Harley didn't seem like the kind of girl who thought she'd die of old age. They were all running on borrowed time, and for some of them - Diablo, and Croc apparently - it ran out. And Floyd could see the other end of that rainbow; transparent, empty, worthless. Croc had held something in his hands, and now it was gone.

"What was her name?" he asked, suddenly. Croc started, stared, teeth baring. Floyd added hurriedly, "Or his. I ain't judging. 'S free country, man, right? It's all good."

"Aw, shut it," said Croc.

"Is that what you're afraid of, man?" asked Floyd. "Goin' back, and rememberin'?"

Silence met him; angry, narrow-eyed silence. Right on target. Floyd barreled ahead, trying to keep his advantage.

"Look man, Gotham's a shithole, a'right?" he said. "Anybody who lives there knows that, even the one percenters. It's made hell on everyone - you ain't special just 'cause it gave you something and it took it away."

"Ain't you the same?" said Croc. "Cryin' 'cause o'ya baby girl. Gotham's gonna take, Lawton, it gives and it takes back twice as hard."

"Well, that's the beauty of being a hypocrite, Killer," replied Floyd calmly. "I can do and say whatever the hell I want. So I'm telling you - back me up here. And whatever's waiting for you in Gotham, I'll watch your back. You watch mine, I watch yours, same as Midway. We're a team, Croc. Help me out. Don't _you_ wanna take something from that city, for a change?"

Croc growled behind the bars, but after a minute his eyes slid away, over Floyd's shoulder. Moon had moved closer, tentatively, her fingers winding together.

"Will you help us?" she asked quietly. Floyd nearly grinned when Croc did the reptile man equivalent of shuffling his feet, before grudgingly shrugging his shoulders and snorting.

"A'right," he grunted. "A’right. But ya _owe_ me; got that, Lawton?”

"That's good, that's fine!" said Floyd, slapping his hands together and turning to Moon. "What next?"

"Boomerang," said Moon, faintly, and led the way.

~~~~~

There was a banging sound coming from Boomerang's cell. The closer they got, they clearer it got; a rhythmic thumping, like something banging against the door. Floyd recognised it: Boomerang's voice had finally given out. He was tiredly hitting his head against his cell door.

Like with Floyd and Croc, no guards were in sight around Boomerang's front door. The slot was closed and the shadows crept around the edges of the walls, slicking across the door. The knocking paused, and with a loud click, the door unlocked and slowly swung open. Immediately there was a scrambling noise as Boomerang got to his feet, panting as he waited for whoever was out there to rush in and beat him senseless, as the guards had been doing every time his talking got too much for them. Floyd had heard the ruckus all the way down in his super-reinforced cell, not to mention the tidbits he could scrounge from Flag whenever the man did come by.

But there were no guards this time, and Boomerang's opportunism, as it always did, won out over caution. He poked his head around the door, cocky smirk already forming on his face, gold tooth glinting - at which point he saw Moon wreathed in shadows with those weird black veins against paper-white skin, and promptly shrieked like a little baby. Floyd had to give him credit, though - he at least didn't run _back_ into the cell, instead flinging himself out the door and down the hallway.

"Boomerang!" he shouted, but the guy didn't stop. Floyd turned to Moon, his eyebrows raised, and she sighed. There was a yelp from Boomerang and an abrupt smacking noise, followed by frantic whimpering and a scraping noise. Boomerang was being dragged by his legs towards them, Moon obviously using means not visible to the naked eye. Speaking of naked...

"Where the hell did your clothes go, Boomerang?" asked Floyd, grimacing. The guy was only dressed in a pair of boxers, body filthy with dirt and hair overgrown and wild.

"Holy shit," Boomerang blurted, staring at them with wide eyes. "What the bloody -"

"'S a'right, Boomerang, we've got a mission," said Floyd, crossing his arms. The other man blinked confusedly up at them, still prone on the ground.

"A mission?" he repeated. "Ya, right, pull the other one. So how comes I don't see Flag here? Or that nutcase, Waller? I could do with saying a thing or two ta her, no question."

"Talkin's what got you messed up in the first place, Boomerang," said Floyd, snorting. "Nah, it ain't that kinda mission. We're AWOL on this one."

Boomerang immediately perked up, scrambling to his feet. "AWOL?" he exclaimed excitedly. "Now there's a thing or two I know about! Where's me gear?"

Floyd must have looked a bit surprised, because the other man suddenly grinned, flashing his gold tooth and shooting Floyd the biggest shit-eating grin that ever was.

"What? Thought you'd have to convince me? Nah, mate," he said, casually leaning against his cell door as though he wasn't actually next to naked. "I'm not a complicated man. Bit o'brew, some fresh air...happy out."

"...right." Floyd shook his head. "I meant it about the mission, man. My girl's in Gotham -"

"Oh, _Gotham!"_ exclaimed Boomerang. "Far out, I've always wanted to visit properly!"

Floyd stared. "You been to Gotham already?"

"Briefly." Boomerang waved it away. "Anywho, yeah, let's go. Anything to get me out of that fuckin' cell."

It was too easy. So Floyd got up in the other man's space, locking eyes with him and ignoring the rank unwashed scent.

"Let's make this clear," said Floyd. "You don't run. God help me but I need you, we all do. My baby girl's in Gotham and there's somethin' goin' on down there, somethin' bad. I ain't heard from her in over two weeks, and now Flag's gone too. Waller can't act for whatever reason, but she wants us down there, which is the _only_ thing stoppin' her from blowing our heads off when they find us missin'. We get in, rescue Zoe, rescue Flag, get out. And when we get back, you maybe don't waste your favour on mouthing off to the lady who controls life, death, and cell assignments, a'right?"

Boomerang was frowning, but it looked to be more from confusion rather than displeasure.

"Yeah, man, I get it," he said slowly. "But you help me too, yeah?"

Floyd resisted rolling his eyes. "And what is it that you need in Gotham, Boomerang?"

"Huh? Ah, nah, not like that." The other man grinned. "You've got it in with Flag, right? And Flag's got it in with Waller."

"A favour," concluded Floyd. "You want me to put in a good word for you."

Boomerang spread his palms out and shrugged. "Can you blame me?" he said. "I might be stuck in this shithole, but I'd like to see the sun every now and again. Eat some real food, take a walk. Maybe get me some guards who'll talk back for a change."

"The little things, right?" said Floyd sarcastically. Boomerang threw him that grin again, the shit-eating one.

"Mate, I've never done a wrong thing in me life!" he insisted. "I don't deserve this treatment! Saved the world too, didn't I? Right next to you lot. _I'm_ the one that found the heart - eh, speaking of which..."

He leaned to the side, peering around at Moon. The woman still looked pretty mousy - not sure what Flag saw in her, if he was honest, but he wasn't about to judge a man, especially given that Zoe's momma was a hooker. Moon's humanity was slowly being consumed by the shadows, however, and the shadows were growing more lively. Still, it was...different than Enchantress. Instead of motor oil and rot, Moon brought the smell of earth and growth with her, like the ground at night time, after it had been raining all day. Cold, but not in an aggressive way.

"She's fine," decided Floyd. "The metahuman bug bit her, but she's got it under control. We just need to get Flag back."

Boomerang's eyes slowly slid away from Moon; he looked skeptical, but obviously didn't want to waste the brain space on arguing about it.

"Riiight..." he said. "Flag's the objective, or what? I mean, he seems a nice bloke, but if something's going down in Gotham - like, that place is _filled_ with crazies -"

"I'm from Gotham," said Floyd exasperatedly.

"Me too," grunted Croc. Boomerang just spread his hands out and stared at them.

"Case and fuckin' point, mate!" he said. "So if somethin's going down there, you know it's gonna be fuckin' FUBAR, right?"

"We've survived Midway," said Floyd.

"We had a metahuman arsonist who'd found god, mate, that's how we survived," said Boomerang. "Look, I'm all for it, a hundred percent! Rescue Flag, rescue ya lil' girl, be the heroes, get paid - so to speak. But we're talkin' about somethin' so bad that Waller's gotta send her extra special secret covert team... _undercover._ Whatever it is, it ain't Midway. And we're down a tank, as far as I can tell."

"Then somethin's wrong with your eyesight, Boomerang, 'cause we got _her,"_ snapped Floyd, and pointed back at Moon. She started, stepping back a little.

"Oh! No, no..." she said. "I'm not a combatant..."

Boomerang barked out a laugh before Floyd had a chance to rail at her.

"Lady!" Boomerang exclaimed. "You want us to go into a hellhole worse than the one you made in Midway, rescue ya lil' boy, then trot back to prison, neat and tidy? You must be fuckin' kiddin' me!"

"We ain't gonna do your fighting for you," said Floyd, glaring at her. "You want our help, you take part. You ain't Flag, you ain't Waller -"

"I'm not a killer!" she burst out.

"Yes, you are," said Floyd quietly, moving closer to her and holding her gaze. "Now, maybe you ain't like me, and maybe you ain't like Boomerang and maybe you ain't like Croc, but people died 'cause a'you, and that makes you a killer. You can spend the rest of your life running, and frankly I don't care what you do, but I ain't all that interested in helping out somebody who doesn't wanna help me out too."

"We're criminals, love," said Boomerang, coming up behind him. "The only difference between us and you is a concrete wall."

Moon looked stricken, and her shadows followed; but instead of getting more violent, they seemed to be withdrawing into her body, the scent of earth growing stronger. A sound rumbled inside Croc's chest as he watched her, and Floyd just shook his head and crossed his arms.

"Maybe you don't quite understand who it is you're getting into bed with," he said. "But you understand this right now. The _only_ reason I am helping you is because Zoe's in danger. You've got magic powers. We're going to need them. If you want Flag saved, you'll figure out how to use them, and you won't _hesitate_ to use them. Not saying you gotta kill more people, sweetheart - just to know that we're heading into a shitzone, and that decision _is_ coming up. Either way, you pull your weight. Got that?"

There was a tense silence as Moon flicked her eyes between each of them, but then the light shifted, the shadows retreated, and she nodded, silently.

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Boomerang, slapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly. "Right, so what's a fella got ta do for a pair of pants around here?"

Floyd closed his eyes. He didn't pray often, but he had the feeling he'd need a helluva lot more than just luck to pull this thing off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Saturday 25th March. Enjoy the chapter, and the first guest appearance! ;)

"So, how we gettin' there?" asked Floyd, once he'd checked every single inch of his beloved weapons. Their next stop had been to the so-called armory, where Moon's freaky shadows turned into even freakier smoke and pulled out their crates of personal belongings, one by one. He supposed he should be thankful that they were close on hand - it was a useful thing to know, for future reference - but the sight of Moon's eyes turning back into her head made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He reserved comment, as did Croc, but Boomerang just couldn't help himself.

"Mate, I know you said she was alright, alright?" he muttered under his breath, leaning in towards Floyd. Floyd grimaced and moved away from the other man, his smell almost unbearable. Boomerang either didn't notice, or, more likely, _did_ notice and was actually doing it on purpose.

"It's just that this is some freaky level Queen of the Damned shit right there, I'm just saying," Boomerang continued, and even though Floyd agreed with him, his principles railed at him.

"Man, shut up," said Floyd, double-checking his wrist holsters. "Get that Anne Rice bullshit away from me and put some pants on."

Boomerang darted away from Floyd's irritation, but there was a grin smacked across his face. 

"Alright, alright," he said, and added, somewhat smugly: "Still knew who I was talking about, though."

Floyd leveled a glare, but Boomerang just put his hands up and sauntered away - his own box was lying open and he rummaged through it excitedly, sighing contentedly when he pulled out the pink unicorn. Floyd always felt that 'each man to their own' worked pretty well in most circumstances, but...ugh, damn. The fruitloop was a nutjob.

"Oi, any chance at a quick shower before we head?" called Boomerang, pulling out his familiar clothing - that ratty coat and blue jersey, that weird glove. As much as Floyd wanted the Aussie to shower, _no,_ they didn't have time to bathe, and he was about to answer as such when he paused and looked down at himself.

His beard was clean. He swiped a tongue over his teeth; smooth and traced with mint, no graininess. None of his clothes had stains on them. He faked testing his aim with the wrist hoslter and took a surreptitious sniff - no b.o. either. Then he looked slowly over to Moon, who was walking over Boomerang. Her hand extended -

The other man gave a little yip of shock, jumping a few inches in the air. 

"Ahhh!" he complained, rubbing his arms and torso. "That was _cold,_ woman! I don't mind a bit of fun, but _jesus!_ Get a little circulation going, would'ya?"

Boomerang turned and Floyd stared. The man's rough chops and curly hair were smoothed and manageable, all the stubble shorn away. There were no streaks of dirt or who-knew-what across his body; even his boxers, as much as it pained Floyd to look, were unstained. The other man caught him looking, and after a moment of suspicion, smirked and spread his arms. Floyd cut him off before he could say something really stupid that would break even Floyd's legendary self-control.

"Man, shut up," he said. "Still feel like you need a shower?"

Boomerang paused, and took a minute to go through the same process Floyd had. Then they both turned to stare at Moon, who only shrugged.

"From the earth, return to earth," was all she said, as though that was any kind of reasonable fucking explanation.

"Okay, fine," said Floyd, ignoring Croc's low, throaty chuckle. "Still haven't answered my question. How are we gettin' there? You get us a plane or somethin'?"

Moon shook her head. "Just finish getting changed. I'll show you when you're ready."

Well, Floyd had been in the army, so it'd only taken him about six seconds to get dressed and strap everything in. He readjusted his collar a little as he waited for Boomerang to finish up - there didn't seem to be an end to the man's layers or pockets - but at least whatever hoodoo Moon had worked on them apparently extended to their clothing. His suit felt like it had just got back from the dry-cleaners, even though he'd obviously never taken it to a dry cleaners since the day he got it. Croc only needed another velvet hoodie - this one dark red, like blood - and he was ready to go. The other man moved his head under the hood in slow circles as he waited, that low guttural sound rumbling out from his chest. Floyd watched him out of the corner of his eye and couldn't shake the weird feeling that the other guy was... _purring,_ somehow. Maybe the velvet was a texture thing? Either way, it was really disconcerting.

After about eight hundred years, Boomerang was ready to go, flashing them a cheeky smile and spinning a couple of boomerangs in his hand.

"Alright," he said. "Ready for _business._ Where we going now?"

"Gotham," replied Moon, and before Floyd could even register the sonorous quality of her voice, they all fell into shadows.

He tried to resist screaming - he could hear Boomerang letting off like a b-movie murder victim - but he couldn't hold back the shout. It felt like warm wind was whipping past him, without ever really touching him, all jet-black silk folds and noiselessness. There was no up or down, and he was pretty sure he _was_ falling, especially when all of a sudden the real world filtered back in, strip by dizzying strip, and Floyd realised that he was tumbling towards the earth, far too fast to survive -

He gasped for air, his equilibrium telling him he was still spinning while his body said that his feet were now on the ground. Behind him, Boomerang was retching, empty stomach pulling up nothing but bile, and Croc was heaving up something that _stank_ and didn't bear close examination. Boomerang groaned and hit the ground, shoulders shaking.

"Jesus Christ," he said, weakly. "Jesus H Christ. I've never done a wrong thing in my life. Never done a wrong thing. Don't deserve this shit. Jesus..."

Floyd's gut heaved at the sound of Croc emptying his stomach, and his own vertigo rattled around in his head. He inhaled, fighting it, and planted his feet, looking around for Moon. He didn't see the skinny witch, but he _did_ see something that shook out any lingering sense of illness, replacing it with total and absolute shock.

They were at the end of one of the main bridges that connected Gotham to the rest of the country, and it had a hole blown right through the middle, only the bare ends of it remaining. The group was just on the edge of the platform that led into the city, the other side barely visible across the impossibly wide Gotham river.

Floyd stared in horror, stepping forward. Looking towards the other bridges in the distance, he saw the same pattern repeated; no bridge was left standing whole.

"What the fuck," he said. And then he looked _up,_ and his stomach plummeted.

The sky above the city was a dark olive-green, spread out like a wine stain on Sunday table linen. There was no ominous lightning coming from it, no evidence of irregular weather patterns like in Midway, but the miasma was definitely, _definitely_ not of natural origins. Out of nowhere, Moon stepped beside him, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Magic?" he asked, quietly. But she shook her head.

"Only partly," she replied. "It's magic, but...man-made. Some kind of corruption."

He looked again to the sky; it coated everything in a grey sort of light, steeping the city in apparently never-ending twilight. The stain wasn't moving, wasn't even doing anything, but it lingered overhead like a dead weight, promising bad things.

"Like Enchantress?" he asked.

"...yes. I believe so. It has the same sort of feel."

He twitched, but only once. Then he sniffed, sorting himself out, putting all those little fears and feelings into each of the little boxes they belonged in, one by one.

"A'right," he said, finally. "We're dealing with a meta, then. Metas can die. But our _priority_ is finding Zoe."

"And Flag," inserted Moon.

"Well, yeah, Flag too," said Floyd, raising his eyebrows. "I'd have thought that went without sayin'. Croc, Boomerang - you good?"

Boomerang only groaned in return, but Croc stood, spitting to the side.

"I want a beer," said the reptile man, baring his teeth. Boomerang made a wild noise of agreement.

"Mate, I've never bloody agreed with you more," he said, fervently. "God I need me some fucking brew. I'd even drink Fosters."

"No Australian actually drinks Australian beer," said Floyd, getting his guns ready. His statement at least got the Aussie off the ground, even if it was in fiery indignation.

"Well _excuuse me,_ mister man!" snapped Boomerang. "Didn't realise you were the fucking Minister of Cultural Affairs! I said I'd _even_ drink Fosters, not that I'd be _happy_ about it! For fuck's sake."

"A'right, a'right..." Floyd glanced at the other man, actually kind of amused by the little tirade; turned out you _could_ get underneath the skin of the guy who made it his person mission to fuck up everyone else's day. "Didn't mean to cause offense. We'll find you Bud or somethin', a'right?"

_"Bud?"_ whined Boomerang.

"Man, I don't fucking know," said Floyd, previous fleeting amusement now gone. "You're damn picky for a convict, you know that?" 

"Course I'm fucking picky," snapped Boomerang. "I know what I'm missing out on, don't I?"

Croc interrupted them by growling, loudly and very threateningly. 

“We gon’ walk, or not?” he said, straightening his back and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Moon looked up towards the sky, a worried look coming across her.

“Killer is right,” she said. “We need to get moving. It’s not safe, out in the open.”

Floyd grunted. “Fine. Let’s get movin'. We’re goin' to Zoe’s first – man, what’re you doin'?”

Croc had walked right past him, lifting up a manhole like it was a piece of cardboard and tossing it to the side. He stretched a grin over to them and waved his hand at the hole leading to the sewers.

“You heard shawty,” he said. “Out in the open, it ain’t safe. Welcome to _my_ world.”

“Oh, _hell_ nah –” Floyd stared in horror as Croc jumped down into the hole, hitting the bottom with a nasty thick splash. The thought of crawling through a sewer was apparently enough to make Boomerang pull his socks up and sidle towards Moon, faking an amiable smile.

"Say - don't suppose some o'that mumbo-jumbo'd work on the smell, would it?" he asked. Moon frowned, and he put his hands up defensively, adding: "Hey, now, a man's done his fair share of crawling through sewers! But the smell, I mean, it _lingers._ And me boots were never the same again."

Floyd grunted. "As much as it _pains_ me to agree with him, he's got a point. Any chance we could get a lil' extra protection, Moon?"

"Pussies." Croc's rumbling voice came up from within the sewer opening; he was openly laughing at them both. Moon sighed.

"Oh - _fine."_ She raised both her hands, and Floyd was overwashed with the sensation of cold air, with a hint of...spearmint?

"Will it help with the smell?" asked Boomerang immediately, shaking himself like a dog. Moon just threw him a Look.

"You'll still smell the sewer," she said. "But you're protected from the smell or filth clinging on to you."

"We goin', or what?" rumbled Croc. There was a slight sound of disturbed water sloshing beneath, and Floyd grimaced.

"Yeah man, yeah," he said, walking forward. He threw his eyes upwards, just once, before he started to climb inside. Straight into the underworld...ugh.

The sewers were exactly as he’d expected; dark, filthy, and _disgusting._ They weren’t his natural element, for good reason; rooftops, overhanging pieces of architecture, places with height and plenty of room to manoeuvre were his regular poison. Then again, he was a sniper, a hitman – not a crocodile-man. Each to their own, right?

“Augh – _god –”_

Apparently Boomerang didn’t feel the same way. Floyd resisted turning his eyes to the sky – he was pretty sure he’d only be more sickened by whatever it was he saw waiting above his head on the sewer ceiling – and just lifted his chin to Croc. The other man’s eyes glinted within the darkness, and even though Floyd couldn’t see him properly, he _knew_ there was a reptilian smile directed at him.

“Which way, Lawton?” he asked, shifting his weight around.

Floyd tried to inhale without smelling anything – failing, badly – before answering. Croc huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“Too easy,” he said. “That’s the _nice_ side a’Gotham. Plenty'a space for moving.”

_“Nice_ side,” said Floyd, staring. “Well, that’s good. I mean, it’d want to be the nice side of Gotham. For the shit I have to go through just to get there on visitation.”

“Speaking o’shit,” said Boomerang, coming up behind them, a strained smile on his face. “Maybe we could get going? Seeing as we’re literally standing in _faeces,_ lads.”

“A four-dollar word,” said Floyd, nodding at Croc and starting to follow the other man. “Good for you, Boomerang.”

“Ah, you asshole,” replied Boomerang, but his tone was almost affectionate. “Think we’ll see any action? That thing with the bridges was crazy, eh?”

“You saw that?” said Floyd. “I thought you’d be too busy chuckin' your guts.”

“Nah – I’ve got a good eye,” said Boomerang. “’sides, it’s a bit hard to miss. What d’you think caused it?”

Floyd was quiet for a minute as he thought; it was a good question. But in the end, the most disquieting answer had to be the right one: “Government.”

Boomerang stared. “Wha – holy shit. Nah – what, you think so?”

Floyd nodded. “Had to be. They would have sent us in for terrorists, or metahumans, or magic shit. But something that Waller couldn’t touch? Something that not even the Suicide Squad could jump in on? It’s gotta be government.”

Boomerang just whistled, low and long, scratching the back of his head. Croc grunted, turning his head a little to glance back at them and bare his teeth.

“Like I said, Lawton,” he rumbled. “The _real_ monsters are out _here.”_

There was no persuasive argument to made against that, really, and they tromped along in silence for a few minutes before Boomerang, predictably, cracked.

“So, how d’ye know your way around the sewers so well, Croc?” he asked. “Live down here, did ya?”

Croc grunted again. “…yeah. When I was a kid. ‘S quiet down here. No sticks.”

_Holy shit,_ thought Floyd, and decided not to continue the conversation at all. He threw a very pointed look at Boomerang, but the other man’s mouth was already opening – first it gaped, then he gave a little chuckle; possibly the most dangerous sound he could have made. That was the weird thing about Boomerang – Floyd had never met a coward so fucking _suicidal_ before. Croc stopped walking entirely and turned to loom over them, growling angrily.

“You laughin’ at me?” he snapped. Boomerang stopped up short, throwing his hands in front of me.

“Nah nah nah nah nah!” he exclaimed, hurriedly. “I just – I’m laughing at meself, mate! My own childhood was so shit I just keep getting surprised to find other guys with even shittier pasts than mine, is all. Gives a man perspective, y’know? Like, yeah, dad might have been a drunk, but at least I didn’t live in a _sewer._ Right?”

“Oh, jesus, Boomerang, shut up,” sighed Floyd. “C’mon Croc, you know what this guy’s like. Let’s keep movin', a’right?”

Boomerang made a noise of indignation. “Well, that’s nice, ain’t it!” he exclaimed. “I do me a bit of heart-to-heart and this is what I get. Lovely. Thanks a lot, mates.”

“Ain’t nobody on this team that’s had a nice childhood, man,” said Floyd. “C’mon. Look at us. You think any of our dads were good to us?”

“Mine was,” piped up Moon, hesitantly. Floyd paused; he’d actually managed to forget about her for a whole two minutes. She hadn’t made a single sound since they’d gotten into the sewer.

“Well of course _yours_ was,” said Boomerang dismissively. “You ain’t a criminal.”

“You said I was part of the team,” said Moon, her voice a little steadier now. “You can’t blame your current actions on your parents not being nice. You make decisions for you.”

Floyd barked out a laugh, actually matching up with Boomerang.

“Aw, love,” said Boomerang, sweetly. “I bet you had a fuckin’ Labrador or something. And a couple of college degrees and a highschool sweetheart.”

He laughed again. Floyd chuckled, not bothering to turn to look at Moon’s expression; she’d either be pouting, or disgruntled.

“Moon, my dad was a total asshole,” he said, shaking his head. “Lemme tell you how important parents are, as somebody who both _had_ parents and _is_ a parent; sure, they don’t make decisions for the kids they bring up into this world. Sometimes a kid is just fucked up. What they’re supposed to do is _set up_ the world for their kids, so their kids actually have a fighting chance at being normal. If your parents don’t do that – if you’re living in a world that beats you down no matter which direction you go into – life choices become a lil’ more complicated than choosin’ between Harvard and fuckin’ _Yale.”_

“Yeah – not that it was a tough choice for me,” said Boomerang. The man actually seemed to be _preening,_ proud at whatever it was he was remembering. “Diamonds or taxes? No fuckin’ question, love.”

“I killed my mother,” interjected Croc. “Killed her when I came out. Dad didn’t stick around. Aunt hated me.”

Silence met this declaration. What the fuck…what the fuck were they supposed to say to that? Holy…

“Well, shit,” said Floyd, finally. Boomerang made a noise of agreement.

“Sure as hell beats _my_ villain origin story,” he said. “So when you said sticks, you really meant _sticks,_ huh?”

Croc grunted.

“…rough shit, buddy,” said Boomerang finally. “If it’s any consolation, mine threw beer bottles. _Deadly_ aim. S’where I think I got the knack, those damn happy tosses.”

There was silence for a few minutes. The only sound was the sloppy tromping through the sludge in the sewer, throwing up rank, sour smells.

“…mine too,” said Floyd, quietly. Moon sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s so much I don’t know. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Floyd just snorted. “Girl, you’re a witch. You’ve got nearly infinite meta-powers. Offendin' a few criminals should be the least of your problems.”

“But it’s not,” said Moon quietly. “Because that’s not the kind of person I want to be. Rick believes in you. He believes that you can do some good. I want to believe that too.”

“What were you like, anyway?” asked Boomerang suddenly. There was a grin in his voice; Floyd didn’t need light to know it was there. “Before all – this.”

Moon sighed again. “I studied archaeology. I was in the middle of a research trip when I found – Enchantress’ casket. My dad never raised his voice, except for lecturers; he’s a professor. My mother is a retired nurse. I’m the only child. And…yes. I have a Labrador.”

Boomerang hooted. “What’s it called!”

“…Biscuit.”

“Oh jesus –”

Floyd had to bend over a little, the movement managing to withhold his laughter. Boomerang didn’t exercise nearly enough restraint; the noise echoed off the walls of the sewer, loud and sharp. Even Croc was huffing a little, clearly amused.

Well, come on. _Biscuit._

“I like dogs,” said Croc. “Cats, too.”

“What, they nice and chewy for ya?” Boomerang had that grin in his voice again, but Croc only grunted.

“Naw,” he said. “Animals don’ mind me. Cats and dogs can smell the human in me. And humans smell the animal.”

He rolled off a throaty chuckle and Floyd shook his head. Boomerang groaned after a particularly squishy step.

“Oh, god,” he said. “Why can’t we just teleport? At least the puking had a bloody _end.”_

“I don’t know where we’re going,” said Moon tiredly. “We’ll have to walk, I’m afraid.”

“It ain’t too far, relax,” said Floyd, rolling his shoulders. “We’ll get there.”

“We cuttin’ across blocks now,” Croc volunteered. “Naw, won’ be long at all now.”

Floyd had no idea how Croc was managing to keep track of their progress or direction; everything looked the same. Long dank tunnels in near darkness, with the occasional turn off left or right, sometimes up or down. Now and again they passed a row of rungs leading up to a manhole, or a grate leading straight to the street. These bled grey light into the barely-lit interior, but overall just played havoc on Floyd’s visual. Just as they were passing one of those grates, each of them engrossed in their own footsteps, Floyd chanced to look outside.

He saw feet run by roughly, the first feet he’d seen in a while. Then it hit him – there was no noise. In a crisis Gotham should have been swarming with thugs looking to catch a lucky break, but so far they had heard any noise or seen any footsteps barring the ones that had just passed them by; heeled boots, quickly running. Floyd almost managed to put them out of his mind, already occupied by the larger question of where everyone was, when a whole pile of other feet ran by after the pair of heels. Sneakers, combat boots.

There was a cut-off shriek.

“What was that?” whispered Moon. Floyd closed his eyes. Frowned. Closed them tighter.

“Not our problem,” he answered. “Keep going. We gotta get to Zoe.”

“Mate…” said Boomerang. Floyd glared over his shoulder and the other man put his hands up. “Hey! I’m the last man to play white knight here, believe me. But, uh…we all know what that was, don’t we?”

Floyd growled, turning back around. He walked by a ladder, stopped. Up ahead, even Croc was staring at him, eyes nearly glowing in the dim light. He held the other man’s gaze, anger rolling underneath his rib cage.

“We’re _criminals,”_ he snapped.

“Yeah?” Croc replied. “What kind?”

Floyd swore. Kicked the wall.

“Get that fuckin’ manhole open,” he said, snapping his fingers at the ladder. Croc just chuckled at him, climbing up and easily flipping open the cover. He ascended with a loud roar, apparently right in the middle of whatever the action was, if the male screams were any indication. Gunfire burst out, and Croc’s laughter got louder and louder. Boomerang came up beside Floyd, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Fuck me,” he said, low. “You first.”

Floyd didn’t bother accepting the invitation; within the minute the gunfire and screaming cut off sharply and there was the sound of the manhole cover hitting the ground and rolling around on the ground, like an overlarge penny. A woman’s voice filtered down into the tunnel, but the words were indistinct. Floyd sighed.

“We goin’ up, or what?” asked Boomerang.

“Yeah man, we goin’,” Floyd replied, and started climbing. The grey light was shit on his eyes – everything was bleeding around the edges of his vision – but the carnage was pretty hard to miss. Croc was standing on the other side of five downed thugs, not so much as a twitch between them, talking to a woman dressed in green. No…not _dressed_ in green…

“Aw, _shit,”_ he said, ‘cause any Gothamite worth their salt knew who that was.

“Who is that?” whispered Boomerang, no doubt boggling at the cascading red hair and significant cleavage. Floyd couldn’t turn his head to check because if he took his eyes off the woman for two seconds it might just be the last thing he did.

“Shut up,” he whispered back. Then, louder: “Ey, Croc! We good?”

It attracted the attention of both figures; Croc, unbelievably, was _grinning._

“Yeah, we good,” said Croc, turning back to throw a nod at the woman. Since when did that guy know _Poison Fucking Ivy??_ She didn’t even look like she hated the guy. Was he just enough reptile to be not so concerned about the man part? ‘Cause she sure as hell was looking at the rest of them like they were so much fertiliser for that freaky venus fly trap Floyd _knew_ wasn’t just a rumour. 

“Is that another metahuman?” asked Moon. Wisely, she asked this very, very quietly. Floyd just nodded, and Moon took the hint, keeping quiet and half-hiding behind him. Ivy just tossed her hair over her shoulder, green whorls tattooed in her skin glittering faintly. After levelling them with a disdainful look, she then proceeded to ignore them entirely.

“Like I said, I could have handled it,” she said to Croc. “My photosynthesis might not be perfect, but I’ve got more than enough poison to deal with a few wannabe thugs.”

“Huh,” said Croc. He stared at her, then titled his head and added: “Knock knock.”

To Floyd’s astonishment, Ivy threw back her head and laughed. It was brief, but shockingly sincere.

“Right, right,” she said, a fond smile transforming her face for a tiny moment. It vanished beneath that snooty look that seemed to be a permanent fixture in her face. “What _are_ you doing back here, Killer? Of all the times for you to break out of prison, you choose _now.”_

“What’s now?” asked Croc. Ivy raised an eyebrow and pointed to the sky.

“Hmmm…magic or meta, blocking out the sky? Unknown madman threatening to unleash a biological weapon? The government blowing up the bridges to contain the threat?”

Boomerang whistled suddenly, nearly making Floyd jump. He could have punched the Aussie for drawing Ivy’s attention onto them. He could have _killed_ the Aussie for following up the whistle with a slap on his shoulder.

“Mate, you were right!” he exclaimed, probably totally aware of how annoying he was being. “It _was_ the government!”

Ivy stepped away from Croc a little, assessing each of them in turn. Her eyes lit a little at Moon – glazed over with disgust at Boomerang – and then, when she landed on Floyd, she smirked.

“I am the light, the way,” she said, reading off his neckband; his mantra, his motto, his motivation. _“You’re_ Deadshot.”

Floyd stared. Ivy only smirked harder.

“Oh, yes – I know you,” she said. “It pays to be well-informed. Time was a competitor was thinking of hiring you to help take out one of my greenhouses – with me in it, of course.”

“I don’t kill women,” he replied automatically. Ivy turned thoughtful.

_“I_ do,” she said. “Humans are just bags of meat. Isn’t that right, Croc?”

Croc just chuckled. Floyd grimaced.

“Guess I don’t need to ask how you guys hit it off, huh?” he said, feeling a bit sick despite himself. Ivy laughed.

“I _know_ you were in prison,” she said. “You back to visit your little girl?”

She laughed again when Floyd pointed one of his wrist guns at her.

“How in the hell did you know about her?” he asked, calmly. He was ready to shoot that damn smirk right off her green face.

“Information is worth more than gold in this city,” she said. “If I have any hope of being left alone, I need to acquire it over all others. You think a troop of soldiers rolling into a semi-affluent stretch of Gotham once a month wouldn’t be noticed?”

“If you’re so well-informed, tell me this,” said Floyd. “Where’s my daughter now?”

“Well, _I_ don’t know,” replied Ivy, now sounding almost bored. “Best guess is the W.I.H.L.”

“The _what?”_

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Where have you _been?_ The Wayne Institute for Higher Learning. All the Wayne buildings became open to citizens in need. They have a food supply, medical support, their own generators, sleeping facilities…like little corners of nirvana across Gotham City in its time of need. But the Institute is the closest to your little neighbourhood.”

“What _is_ the time of need?” Moon slid out from behind Floyd, arms across her body. “What’s going on here?”

Ivy was still bored, but Floyd could see the glimmer of interest lurking behind the metahuman’s eyes as she looked Moon up and down.

“I don’t know,” she replied eventually. “I don’t care, either, and I wouldn’t have ventured outside my gardens if it wasn’t for the fact that deliveries had stopped, everywhere. My babies need food, and it’s getting short. As far as I know, there’s been a bomb threat.”

“So where are the riots?” asked Floyd, half to himself. “Where’s the lootin', the crazy? This is _Gotham.”_

“They’re flocking to the inner city,” said Ivy. “They’re hunting out the Batman. Word is there’s a reward on that guy’s head; deliver him and the bomb will be called off. But Bat’s little friends are helping to keep the trouble on its head, not to mention that it takes more than a gang of thugs to shake up the average Gothamite. Penguin’s keeping a tight tab on the violence; too much ruckus and it could flood the market with unauthorised money and goods.”

“Bad for business,” concluded Floyd. He’d never met the so called King Penguin of Crime, but it sounded about right. “I bet he’s drivin' up protection rates.”

This, at least, drew a legitimate grin from Ivy, one Gothamite to another. “Obviously.”

Well, that explained where all the people were. He was sure that a lot of them were just hanging out in their homes, waiting for the Apocalypse to come, but equally he was sure that even more people were crowding these Wayne buildings, hoping somebody else would solve their problems for them. Still, at least now he had a backup plan in case Zoe and Flag weren’t at the apartment. 

“A’right,” he said, finally. “C’mon you guys, let’s get going.”

“Hold on,” said Ivy, and her gaze zeroed in on Moon. “Who’s this?”

Moon startled, drawing away from them. Floyd cracked his neck, bringing Ivy’s attention back to him.

“That’s our muscle,” he said, wondering if Ivy’d take that as a joke. She didn’t look amused; just assessing.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, slowly crossing her arms. Her voluminous red hair slipped over her shoulder, highlighting the inhuman green shade of her skin. “My babies are dying. And _she_ smells like earth. Help me with my greenhouses.”

Floyd stared her down. He’d love to protest – he _burned_ to snap at the woman in front of him – but he was Gotham, through and through. Some things people were born with, and _every_ person in Gotham had a list of people their arm long that you _did not fuck with._ Joker was on top, by a wide margin. Penguin, too – that guy had cornered the gambling and racketeering markets in Gotham and kept it close to his chest with a vice grip.

Poison Ivy was pretty up there. She tended to avoid contact with other people – mostly due to the fact that she loathed humanity – and it was only the people stupid enough to try and steal her rare specimens that ended up as fertiliser. But you didn’t piss the lady off. Floyd was a hitman; he understood about the expendability of human life. He just didn’t like including _himself_ on that list.

“I got my daughter to find,” he said, calmly. There was no flicker of sympathy in Ivy’s eyes; but Floyd knew that having ovaries didn’t always correlate to having maternal instincts. Hell, did the woman even have ovaries? How much of her was plant, now, thanks to her crazy-ass experiments? These were all questions he really didn’t need answered.

Ivy smirked. “Are you trying to appeal to my _humanity?”_

Moon chose that moment to pipe up nervously. “I’m sorry, but – we don’t have time to help. We really do need to get to his daughter. My boyfriend is there, too.”

Floyd bit the inside of his mouth; Ivy was heavily rolling her eyes.

“My god, you are,” she said. “You’re trying to appeal to my humanity. You have _no_ idea who I am, do you?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around Gotham,” interrupted Floyd, even as Croc’s unnerving laugh started up. Ivy just levelled a look at him.

_“You_ know who I am, so you know what I can do,” she said. “Help me, and you’ll see your daughter again. _And_ boyfriend. How’s that?”

Floyd clenched his hip holster, vision blurring very briefly with pure fury. She saw the movement, and only smirked again; a bullet wouldn’t stop her, Floyd knew. Nothing short of all-consuming fire would stop her, and their fire tank was long gone, irretrievably buried beneath the rubble of Midway City’s terminal. He held Ivy’s gaze, pouring out his anger, his frustration, his hate – she saw all, and it melted through her and away like so much mist beneath the beating sun. He needed to get to Zoe. Ivy could kill him with a touch, and couldn’t be stopped by any weapons he or Boomerang had. Croc was her buddy, apparently, and Moon would need a pep talk before she’d raise her hands against anybody; she was not a natural improviser.

Floyd stared Ivy down.

"Where're your greenhouses?" he asked, quietly. Moon made a noise of surprise, but she didn't say anything further. He was glad for that; even someone as inexperienced with combat as this former archaeologist could tell that the silence was heavy and thick, only needing a slight nudge to turn it into something deadly and permanent. Ivy had that smug look on her face again; but then, she'd be used to fellas doing what she said, wouldn't she?

"Not far," she said. Then, as though it were an afterthought, added; "It's close enough to a Wayne Institute building – the one that’s across from your little girl’s building. As in, across the street. Two birds, one stone. Not that I condone violence against wildlife, or anything."

"Fine," said Floyd shortly. "We stop by your greenhouse, work some magic, get out. Sound good?"

"Perfect," said Ivy. "I just need some help with this fertiliser..."

Floyd glared at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters take soooo long to upload.......now I remember why I made my chapters a bit shorter in As the Days Turn. Whelp, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, consider leaving a bit of feedback if you did! See you all next week :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 1 April 2017. Enjoy the chapter (and no, it's not an April Fool's joke, it's a real chapter! :-D)

Ivy, of course, took a supervisory role when it came to re-loading her jeep. There was a green 4x4 half-loaded with plant food and fertiliser, parked beside a garden store with a smashed-in window. A couple of the bags had fallen to the ground and split, and there was an overturned tub of weedkiller next to them, the nozzle leaking a dark stream of liquid onto the asphalt.

"A few weeks ago they tried to use one of my gardens as a shortcut," Ivy said, bored already. "I disagreed. They evidently disagreed with my disagreement."

"Whatever," said Floyd, shaking his head. "Boomerang, give me a hand, would you? Boomerang?"

Oh shit. The Aussie was missing. Come to think of it, he'd been suspiciously quiet the last few minutes, especially since they were in the company of a beautiful woman. The fact that the woman could clearly kill them without blinking wouldn't factor in; Boomerang had spent half their first mission trying to pick up Katana, after all.

"...shit," he said, looking around. Dead bodies, Ivy, team, empty street. "Where in the _hell -"_

He was gonna kill him.

"Deadshot," said Moon, clearly her throat. "He went that way."

She pointed to an electronics store a few doors behind them. Temper rising, Floyd stomped his way towards the shop, shoving open the door. True enough, Boomerang was there, bent over an array of open laptops, all lined up for display on a glass shelf.

"Are you _kiddin'_ me, Boomerang?" snapped Floyd. "We're kinda in the middle of somethin' here."

Boomerang glanced up, raising his eyebrow. He didn't get distracted from whatever he was doing on the laptop, still typing in a word now and again.

"It's called showing _initiative,_ mate," he said. "Haven't you noticed? Streets might be empty, but all the lights are still on. And this place still has wifi."

Floyd stopped. Boomerang was right; the electric lights - so old they were humming - brightened up the interior of the store. Each of the tvs were still going, and all the laptops displayed various screensavers.

"So?" he said. "Gotham's like a city-state. We've got our own generators."

"So there's still electricity," said Boomerang. It sounded more like he was ticking off a mental list than asking a question. "Running water. Heating. Security systems."

"We ain't here to rob," said Floyd, exasperatedly. Boomerang waved away his concerns.

"Nah, nah - what was that address again?"

Floyd narrowed his eyes. Boomerang was concentrating on the set of laptops, his eyes going from one to the other, then back again, repeating the pattern.

"Man, what the hell are you doin'?" Floyd walked over to the other man, looking over his shoulder.

One was open on a news site that he refreshed every so often on the headlines page. Another was open on the GCPD website, on the update section, also refreshing. And the last was something that Floyd recognised easily from countless intel ops he'd run in the past, before he could set up his kills - it was a rotation of traffic cams, black and white. How in the hell did _Boomerang_ manage to remotely access the Gotham City traffic system? From a couple of display laptops in an electronics store?

"See, I thought about it, right?" said Boomerang. "We go in like headless chickens - like last time - I reckon we'll go down pretty fast. This time we don't have any meat shields like those handy SEALS, right? And no fire guy. You an' me, we're the same -"

Floyd instantly opened his mouth to vehemently disagree, but Boomerang waved at him again. He still hadn't looked up from the laptops.

"Nah, nah, hear me out! We're _survivors._ And we survive because we case the joint first, we _plan._ I never robbed a bank I didn't know every inch of - every panic button, every fire alarm. Seems to me to be pretty basic, to get our info straight."

"Fair enough," conceded Floyd. "What've you found?"

Then Boomerang looked at him, deadly serious. There was no sign of the shit-talking scumbag that could yap until his voice gave out; just blank, grey, grimness in every inch of his face.

"Nothing, mate," he said. "There's nothing. There's no external news site that's reporting on Gotham. When I go to make a comment or something, it stops me. And the pages aren’t refreshing with news updates – it’s all caches. This thing has Skype, right? I tried to make a call out and it blocked the signal."

Floyd glanced down at the laptop. "But that's crazy," he said, finally. "That makes no sense."

"I know -"

"There are people with family out in other parts of the country, they would've noticed by now, there's no way somebody wouldn't have _noticed -"_

"Mate, I know," interrupted Boomerang. "You were in prison and you noticed. I bet there are a crazy amount of people out there who are worried sick. But it doesn't matter."

"They can't just kill a whole city," said Floyd. The news site glared back at him; local tragedies and international events, but nothing about Gotham.

"'Course they fuckin' can, mate," said Boomerang, quietly, almost sadly. "It's the USA. If the tv doesn't mention it, people don't care, and that's just humanity for ya'. This place is _batshit._ 'S why I came over after Australia kicked me out."

"...batshit..." repeated Floyd. He shook himself, hard. "That's it. Gotham's got the Bat. That means whatever this crazy shit is, it's _his_ responsibility. A'right, we can't find info on what's going on - we don't _need_ info. We're an extraction team, right? We get Zoe, get out -"

"Flag," reminded Boomerang.

"Man, fuck Flag, I know we have to get him, jesus," said Floyd. "Get them, get out. We're not here to save the city."

"Yeah," said Boomerang. "You, uh...y'think that's what Waller wants?"

"Man, _fuck_ Waller!" snapped Floyd. "She can give me some damn orders if she wants somethin' done. I'm here for me."

"So what am I here for, then?" asked Boomerang, straightening his back. His grin was back though - he knew why he was there.

"You wanna dig yourself out of the shithouse, and I'm handing you a big-ass shovel, that's what you're here for," said Floyd.

"So I can steal?"

"I don't give a shit if you steal, just so long as it doesn't interfere with me getting Zoe out of here safe and sound," replied Floyd. "But I don't know how that's gonna look to Waller if you go around robbin' jewellery stores while on a mission. And where would you put it, anyway? We're going back to prison after this."

"It's the principle of the thing," whined Boomerang, but when Floyd started walking back out of the store, the other man followed without protest. Floyd shook his head, half-amused.

"Man, you stealin' and killin', and then you wanna talk about principles," he said. Ivy and the others were waiting in the jeep, the fertliser all loaded in the trunk. She had the engine started and threw them a raised eyebrow over her shoulder.

"I was thinking about kidnapping your lady friend here, you were taking so long," she said. "Lucky for you, Croc says you're his _friends."_

Floyd, truth be told, was a little moved at that, especially when Croc growled and rolled his shoulders, clearly embarrassed.

"Thanks, man," he said, climbing into the back. Moon was quickly squished into one side as he and Boomerang took up most of the space in the back. "Really appreciate it."

Croc just grunted, turning his back on them. Ivy turned the jeep around and took off - a helluva lot faster than Floyd was expecting. Boomerang yipped from beside him, Moon squeaked, and Floyd - stuck in the middle with nothing to hold on to - was nearly flung out the back as the jeep screeched across the empty lanes.

"This is not a normal jeep!" yelled Boomerang. Ivy only laughed, high and clear like a bell.

"It was a birthday present!" she said, easily dipping in and out of traffic lanes, avoiding abandoned cars and bits of debris. The city was in less shit than Floyd had expected; still enough broken glass to make a glazier weep with joy, still enough graffiti to send street cleaners into an early retirement, but all the buildings were still standing. Nothing was on fire, so that was a pretty good run. Then Ivy kept talking.

"From a mutual friend, I believe - Harley Quinn," she continued, speeding past irrelevant red lights. "You should _see_ the mess she's made in the centre!"

Floyd's gut turned to ice - they were getting closer to the centre. Zoe's school was in the centre.

"Oh really?" he replied calmly. "Well, that explains a few things. How's she doin'?"

"Tearing it up, painting it red," said Ivy, offhandedly. "Figuratively _and_ literally. Some things never change, and that girl is one of them. Talk about a power couple, huh?"

There was something off about the way she said that, but Floyd couldn't see her expression to gauge just what she meant. He figured he'd go for the obvious and guessed that she just didn't like Joker all that much - Floyd couldn't blame him. That guy was...beyond description. He'd say certifiable, but everybody knew Harley Quinn's backstory.

Ivy pulled a hard left, and Moon shrieked when the combined weight of Floyd and Boomerang crushed her against the side of the car. Floyd himself grimaced, but all Boomerang did was curse and dart a hand into his jacket. Between one second and the next, he had a boomerang whistling through the air, just barely missing Floyd’s head.

 _“What_ in the –” snapped Floyd but the other man interrupted with another boomerang.

“We’ve got company!” Boomerang shouted, and there was an unearthly shriek from high above them. Floyd scanned the sky, but even with his eyes he couldn’t see anything – the buildings were too tall, the light was too weirdly coloured. 

“What did you see?” Floyd asked, pulling a gun out and keeping his eyes sharp.

“I dunno mate, it was weird!” said Boomerang, also scanning the sky – though his eyes had a background of nervousness. “Like a – like a huge _bat,_ thing, or summat! All spiky and shadowy!”

 _“Bat?”_ Floyd’s searching grew even more insistent. They made a good target, even at the unruly speed they were travelling in, and he wouldn’t put it past the Bat to already have their location somehow and to come after them. But that _shriek_ …that was weird. Even for Gotham.

“Ivy…” he said slowly. The woman didn’t answer, so he grabbed the back of her seat and leaned over. _“Ivy.”_

“What?” she snapped. “I’m driving.”

“You haven’t told us everythin',” he said.

She sneered. “Gee, _y’think?”_

“Don’t fuck around, Ivy,” Floyd warned. “You want our help, we can’t go in blind. Or did you think you could use us as meat shields for whatever’s _really_ wrong with your greenhouse?”

Ivy was silent, which was as good as an answer. Boomerang looked between them, face going through worry and anger before finally shuttering.

“It’s fucking Midway City all over again, right?” he growled. “Fucking women tryin’a use us and throw us away.”

“Humans are disposable,” replied Ivy. “So, yes. Fine. I haven’t been honest with you. _Surprise.”_

Floyd leaned in again, although he made sure to leave a safe distance in between her and her poisonous green skin.

“I get that we ain’t allies, ok?” he said, low. “But we ain’t enemies, either. Seems to me like we’ve both got a problem that we can help each other solve. So instead of being an asshole, how’s about we actually be _straight_ with one another.”

Ivy just smirked at him, through him a sideways look from beneath her lashes. “Tried going straight, once,” she said. “And here I am.”

“Uh-huh.” Floyd threw her an unimpressed look. “Ivy. What’s goin' on.”

She paused, clearly chewing over her words. “Look, it’s hard to explain,” she started. “That cloud really did just appear one day. It hasn’t done anything yet, though.”

“So why did they blow the bridge?” asked Floyd. “Why are the Wayne Buildings hiding citizens – why are the streets empty when it’s a prime lootin' opportunity? _What’s going on, Ivy?”_

She bit her lip, and to Floyd’s shock, actually melted a fraction, revealing tiredness, fear. She swallowed thickly. “It’s demons, okay?” she said quickly.

Everyone stared.

“Yeah, I know,” said Ivy, snappishly. “It’s stupid, even for Gotham. But there you go.”

Silence absorbed her words. Eventually Floyd just threw his hands in the air.

“You know what?” he said. “Fuck it. Fuck this. I don’t even fuckin' care anymore, okay? Demons? Who fuckin' cares. Let’s go. Let’s get to your fuckin' greenhouse and just fuckin' go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” groused Ivy, but she put her foot down. There were no further attacks as they sped down each street, although he saw glimpses of movement around corners, flashes of light in between boarded-up windows. They started into the nice part of town, where wide boulevards were edged with elegant trees, and the shop fronts and apartments gained cleaner stone, with delicate little curlicues of architecture.

They drove past Zoe’s school. Floyd only knew it from the address Zoe had given him; he’d never seen it in real life. It looked nice, the kind of place where the teachers might actually give a shit about the students; not like Floyd’s hazy memory of high school, before he dropped out and somehow managed to talk his way into the army. Zoe’s school was a brownstone, and each window had a cute little window box with colourful flowers in it. The front door was bust open, hanging off its hinges. Large gouges were torn out of the wood, scraping the whole length of it.

Floyd chest constricted. He looked away quickly, scanning the rooftops for any movement. The damn light was making his eyes sting.

They turned a couple more corners, the directions becoming increasingly more confusing, before Ivy pulled up outside a large grey stone building, one of the refurbished ones leftover from the 1800s, when Gotham could still masquerade as anything besides dark and deadly. It was juxtaposed by a huge glass-and-steel multi-level, emblazoned with the gently glowing logo of Wayne Corp. No lights seemed to be on inside the building, but Floyd knew from experience that those fancy buildings had one-way glass that blacked out any vantage point to the interior. From inside, of course, anybody could look out and see the whole world pass. Bruce Wayne might have been a playboy billionaire, but he was no idiot – the guy had been kidnapped and threatened more times than Floyd could recall. With that kind of experience, it was no wonder he made it as humanly impossible to get a good look at him.

“There’s no elevator,” said Ivy, parking neatly outside the front door.

“What?” protested Boomerang. “Me legs are cramping!”

Floyd rolled his eyes, sliding out of the jeep once Moon had fumbled her way out the door.

“Ah, suck it up,” he said. “It’s only four stories.”

“Easy for you to say, mate,” Boomerang whined, even as he climbed out of the jeep and followed into the house. “I heard you at least had a punching ba – _oh my **god** what is that smell.”_

Floyd nearly hurled when the overwhelming stench of – rotting garlic – or was it – what the hell _was_ that shit? An animal sound followed the initial wave of odour, and there was a rustling noise, like something was being dragged across the ground. Ivy just cooed, walking into the darkness and making motherly clucking noises at whatever the hell was lurking in the shadows.

“It’s okay, sweetie, we brought you food – no, no, not them, yummy fertiliser! Yes, yes we did –”

“Oh, jesus.” Floyd covered his mouth and nose with his hand, trying very hard not to vomit. Croc had no such compunctions; he simply bent over and emptied his stomach, almost neatly and with barely any sound. Floyd’s face twisted at the additional smell of bile now assaulting the air; it really, really didn’t help.

“Man, come on,” he said. “You eat like, raw goat and shit. This ain’t nothin'.”

“This ain’t goat,” said Croc, head bowed. The reptile man sounded something close to miserable. Floyd glanced at Boomerang; he had that weird pink unicorn pressed against the lower half of his face, and to Floyd's amazement and horror, the other man was openly crying.

“It just smells so bad,” explained Boomerang hoarsely, muffled from behind his unicorn. Floyd swallowed down his own bile.

“Ivy,” he barked. “Where the hell are we goin'.”

“Oh, right,” said Ivy, like _they_ were interrupting _her_ day. She sauntered over to the stairs, beckoning over her shoulder with a manicured finger. “Come along. And try not to breathe in _too_ much of the air here; most of my fertilisers and plant foods are for my special hybrids, and they’re poisonous to normal humans.”

Boomerang whimpered, and Floyd couldn’t blame him. This day just kept getting worse and worse and _worse._

“These greenhouses of yours better be fuckin' worth it,” Floyd managed, once they were closer to the top of the building and further away from the _stink._ Ivy just shot him a glare that made his skin tingle with warning, but she refrained from replying until they hit the roof, after taking them up a winding staircase loaded with crawling plants and booby traps. Once there, he had to stop and stare for a moment; even with living in Gotham his whole life and experiencing people making the most of every tiny space they had available to them didn’t prepare him for Ivy’s greenhouses. They didn’t belong on the top of a building, but somehow she’d built a towering row of glass constructs, built in the shape of those vintage-style birdcages. The interior was dark from the press of green things, and they sort of exuded a kind of energy that made Floyd very hesitant to walk any further.

“Oh,” said Moon, quietly. Floyd didn’t startle, but he was embarrassed to admit he’d somehow forgotten her in between the jeep and being amazed by Ivy’s greenhouses. The woman walked closer as though in a daze, slowing down as she reached the doors.

“Don’t,” warned Ivy. “My babies don’t like newcomers, and neither do I. You can do your magic from outside here. You go inside, and they’ll poison you.”

“They won’t poison me,” said Moon distractedly, and before any of them could do anything, she took a hold of the doors, pulled them open, and slipped inside. They all stared in horror for a long moment after the mousy woman disappeared, none of them willing to follow her in.

“Well, fuck me, anyway,” said Boomerang quietly, and Floyd actually found himself nodding in agreement. Then, as one, they damn near jumped a foot off the ground when something slapped the wall of the greenhouse so hard the glass rattled, and then that something _howled._ Floyd glanced at Ivy, who was observing with a look of concentration – but not surprise.

“What’s in your greenhouse, Ivy?” he asked, quietly, but she didn’t reply, merely frowning when the entire greenhouse _shuddered_ and went abruptly still. Boomerang had sidled to the back of the group, wide eyed and looking ready to make a run for it down the fire escape. Croc just side-eyed him and didn’t say a word, and slowly, the greenhouse doors cracked open a fraction, gradually swinging open.

Steam poured out, tinted grey and awash with multiple sweet scents, from roses to rot. Moon walked out, almost unrecognisable; the veins had developed into whorls very reminiscent of Ivy’s plant tattoos, and her eyes were pure, shiny black – not like shadows, but like the space between the stars, where normal eyes strained to see. Behind her, the greenhouse doors quietly swung shut again.

“Ivy,” she said, voice echoing, and Floyd saw that her living shadows were dragging behind a formless mass, something that his eyes couldn’t make out, that his brain couldn’t comprehend. Behind him, Boomerang sucked in a gasp, and Croc shifted uneasily.

“What the hell is _that,”_ said Floyd, and Ivy stepped forward. Moon stopped walking, and her shadows lifted up the – _thing,_ so that Ivy could get a good look at it.

“A kind of incubus,” said Moon. “It cloaked itself and fed off the plants. Your hybrids have a unique series of life-signs; I’d be more careful in the future with leaving the doors open.”

“An incubus?” Ivy raised her eyebrows at the thing, and eventually shrugged. “Well, I thought it would be worse. My babies are all right?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Moon. “This type of demon is very weak – but not stupid. It wouldn’t have killed your plants.”

Ivy sighed with relief. “Can you get rid of that thing?”

“Why the _fuck _is everyone so _calm?”_ shrieked Boomerang. “We’re talking about bloody demons, here! DEMONS. What the _fuck?!”___

____

“Yeah…I’m with Boomerang,” said Floyd, and Ivy snorted, swanning past Moon and making her way back into the greenhouse. Floyd nearly snapped again, but then he caught sight of Moon glancing at him. To his surprise – and suspicion – she shot him a sly little grin. Ivy, meanwhile, had flung open the greenhouse doors.

____

“Oh, babie – _AAUGHH!”_

____

Dozens and dozens of bats flew out of the greenhouse, colliding with Ivy and swirling around her. She shrieked and fell to the ground, trying to protect her head.

____

“You - !” she shouted. “Get rid of them!”

____

Moon just titled her hips, observing with absolutely no sense of hurry. Floyd, Boomerang, and Croc – as one – took a big step backwards.

____

“Your plants are sentient, Ivy,” said Moon, supremely unconcerned by the way the bats seemed to be multiplying. “So I know what you’ve been telling them. I understand why you’d want this place to be kept a secret, but if you think you can use us and then get rid of the bodies, you’ve _really_ messed with the wrong squad.”

____

Ivy swore. “Fine! Fine! Just get them away from me! I need to check my babies!”

____

“Swear on it, Ivy,” said Moon.

____

“I swear, I swear!”

____

“Swear on your greenhouse and every living thing you’ve ever made,” said Moon. “People are more important to me than plants, and if you break your word I won’t feel an ounce of regret burning everything to the ground.”

____

Ivy snarled, eyes flashing an unnatural green. “I swear – I _swear! NOW STOP THEM!”_

____

Moon titled her head, the bats vanishing. Ivy just snarled again, throwing them an unutterably poisonous glare. Floyd couldn’t help it; he snorted, throwing Moon an appreciative look. Boomerang gave a throaty chuckle and clapped his hands.

____

“Well done, girl,” he said, sauntering over to her and bumping shoulders. “Knew you were one of us. We look out for each other, right?”

____

Moon flushed from the attention, but grinned.

____

“We’ve got a mission, don’t we?” she said, shrugging. Boomerang just chuckled again, and Floyd shook his head, watching as Ivy scrambled to her feet and darted into her greenhouse, slamming the doors behind her. He watched for a minute, but no sounds or movement were forthcoming, so eventually he wandered to the edge of the roof, looking out towards the Wayne building, the dull light making it difficult to make out even the big logo emblazoned on the side of the glass-and-steel skyscraper. The only cars he saw on the street were those neatly parked on the edges on the sidewalk – where they should have been – and there were no lights on in any of the houses. It wasn’t right; there was none of the panic and opportunism he’d come to expect from a hunted Gotham populace.

____

…maybe they’d all seen Midway. And Metropolis before that. Instead of trying to escape, maybe every single person in the city had simply given up, and was quietly waiting for death in the comfort of their own homes, surrounded by loved ones –

____

God, he hoped Zoe was okay. He hoped Flag was looking after her properly, in the crazy city cut off from the rest of civilisation. Demons haunting greenhouses, the streets empty, miasma instead of sky and the bridges blown…it wasn’t a difficult conclusion to reach. Something was trying to kill Gotham. And the rest of the world was going to write it off as a bad job, and pretend it never existed at all?

____

Beneath his skin, Floyd's blood began to boil. When he killed, he had to do it cold. But that was for money, that had a price attached. Each life he took was _worth_ something, it had a meaning. This - this was an attempt at wholesale slaughter, without meaning, without purpose or worth. Jesus, Floyd was no saint. But leaving a city to die? Filled with kids, women, men, better than he was, who were a part of a system that gave his Zoe a better shot at life than he ever got?

____

Waller sent them to Gotham on purpose. That, at least, was totally obvious. What wasn't so clear was _why._ Why did she send them, if it meant going against her bosses? Why did she send a highly unstable team, totally unsupervised, to save one soldier? She was an unshakable force, without a trace of optimism in her bones. Surely it couldn't be because she...hoped they would make the right choice?

____

Floyd scoffed at his own train of thought. Yeah, Waller - _hope._ The only reason that word could belong in the same sentence as that woman was if they were describing a list of total fucking opposites.

____

No, he knew why he was here. For Zoe, to get Zoe out of a crazy, messed-up city, someplace safer. Out of everything that had ever gone down in Gotham this had to be the most fucked up bullshit he’d ever heard of. God help Flag if he wasn’t looking after his baby properly until he found them.

____

…wherever the hell they were.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually forgot about the date today - nobody's tried to prank me, so that's nice. I like funny things, but sometimes people try and prank with bad news, and that sucks. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed your week and the chapter! And please consider leaving a comment, they're really nice to get. Enjoy the rest of your weekend! :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Saturday 8 April 2017. Please enjoy the chapter.

**Four days ago… ******

********

Rick really did think it would be simple. Gotham was easy enough to get to, even without a plane; train lines, bus routes, and highways all led to the proverbial Rome, mostly filled with commuters and deliveries, all lining up for the traffic along the bottleneck bridges until finally loosening up and slipping into separate roads and side-streets, trickling away to their own little lives and vanishing inside the ever-hungry belly of the Dark Apple.

********

He'd taken a train - two, actually - in an effort to make his self-appointed mission as off the books as possible. He had his lightweight body armour underneath a normal enough outfit, and his two favourite guns secreted inside his jacket, holsters cleverly arranged to be invisible to the casual eye. But it was Gotham; almost everybody knew how to spot a hidden holster. They probably taught it in kindergarten, along with the alphabet, stranger-danger, and stop-drop-and-roll. God knows the kids growing up in downtown would need the extra observational skills.

********

Rick had never liked Gotham. It wasn't like Hub City, where the crime and the filth was like a badge, glaring and unabashed, defiant in the face of efforts to clean it up, instil some good into the streets. In a weird, backwards way, Hub City was honest. What you saw was what you got, and what you saw was the worst of humanity, gathered up in one place and enabling each other. 

********

Gotham, on the other hand, was all curlicued architecture, marble and brownstone, big imposing buildings and clean streets. Neat rows of trees and clean front doors, all of it a front to hide the dirty, crime-ridden core of it. Gotham was a city filled with shadows and lies and death, a glorified bordello of corruption. The elite swanned in their furs and the more they glittered, the filthier the underside of it all became; the Narrows, filled with suffering, cornered by Arkham Asylum, a vomitus aberration of the healthcare profession as a whole.

********

Everybody knew it was a dirty city. And nobody, nobody ever said it out loud. He'd stepped off the train in Gotham Central Terminus, taking in the gleaming bronzework of the high-arching ceilings, the clean brickwork, the dozens of tidy coffee-and-sandwich stalls, and wondered how it was still standing. How nobody had seen fit to clean it up, to scour away the devastating darkness that permeated every inch of the place.

********

If Lawton was really as smart as he let on, he'd have asked to get Zoe moved to a better, safer place. Coast City, maybe, even if their colleges weren't as good. Or Central City - even with the meta-crime, their resident hero kept a pretty good lid on things. Unlike the Batman, who seemed to be nothing more than an insistent and rather sad piece of flotsam trying to damn an ocean of wrong all by himself.

********

Lost in thoughts, he was halfway to Zoe's school, on foot, when the explosions rocketed through the air, making the ground tremble.

********

He froze in the street; same as everybody else. Citizens long-used to nutcases setting off bombs in their streets looked carefully around, wide-eyed and worried, trying to pin point the direction of the blast. Rick kept his eyes peeled; it could have been anything, anyone - Gotham had no end to its list of crazies and domestic terrorists, any of whom might have pissed off somebody who was looking for a bit of revenge. 

********

But no source revealed itself, which was worrying in itself. Explosions that strong - enough to be that loud, and make the ground shake beneath their feet - were serious business. There should have been smoke, fire, the sound of sirens - instead, there was nothing. Just silence, and people staring at each other, wondering what fresh horror they were about to undergo.

********

"Oh, jesus," someone whispered, and lo, the truth was revealed.

********

There was an electronics store, where a row of HD TVs were set up, each screen showing the same unbelievable image; the bridges, the train tracks, the tunnels, all freshly smoking and blown completely from existence. Every entrance into Gotham was sealed or broken, which meant that every exit was gone as well. In one move, the city was isolated.

********

A pretzel-stand owner turned up his radio, letting the sound wash out over a confused and quickly panicking crowd.

********

_" - no news as of yet regarding who is responsible for this latest terrorist attack, but we urge citizens to remain calm -"_

********

Rick turned and started to run, as fast as he could, barrelling through civilians, over stopped cars, and heading straight for Zoe's school. He knew from the mission briefs that it was a four-story brownstone, complete with private school teachers, uniforms, and fresh, shiny textbooks. Zoe, defying the prejudicial expectations of local society, was absolutely flourishing in it.

********

Talking about her was the only time Lawton looked like a human being, his eyes glowing and his face softening with an emotion that could only be classified as all-encompassing love. And when he thought she was in danger, he turned into a total psychopath, until Rick himself had showed up at his cell door and promised to look into it - not that he'd thought, in a million years, that anything really _had_ gone wrong. Just a little girl, growing up, finding a life outside her dad. Totally natural.

********

Her letters had stopped ten days ago. What if there was nothing wrong with _her?_ What if this was a plan, something orchestrated by a deadly force? Someone with connections, power, someone who clearly intended to turn Gotham into a rat pit and let the survivors fight over what was left. He wasn't sure even Agent Waller herself could have organised something this huge, this world-changing; although he was pretty sure she at least had the guts. Her bosses were too cowardly to sign off on something like this, but it had the sour taste of nihilism to it; somebody out there didn't just hate Gotham, but hated every last person inside of it. Even Rick, who had no love for the place, wouldn't have condemned every last man, woman, and child to a unbelievably horrifying re-enactment of the Hunger Games. Because that's what it'd turn out to be. Cornered like rats, the people would soon begin to pick each other off, one by one.

********

He had to get to Zoe before then. _He had to._

********

Rick picked up the pace. There was no time to lose.

********

~~~~~

********

There were already parents rushing up the steps, obviously having abandoned their workplaces in favour of immediately collecting their kids. In the middle of work suits and frantic house spouses, Rick took the steps two at a time, shoving open the front doors. He knew from briefs that Zoe's classroom was on the second floor, west-facing, and that in an emergency the school immediately restricted all the children to their respective classrooms until the parents came to collect them. If the parents were more than two hours late, then the teachers took the children to the closest safety point, which was only a block down the street; a Wayne Foundation building, furbished into offices and designated as a safe house in times of urgency. No doubt people were already flocking towards it; Gotham had its citizens well-rehearsed in the acts of fear and self-preservation.

********

He was only slightly out of breath by the time he got to the classroom; the halls and rooms were dark, as the blinds had been pulled down, the bullet-proof glass gaining an extra layer of protection with a specially-formulated, lightweight metal, coloured terracotta like a normal set of school blinds. Rick doubted even the principal or teachers even knew how well-protected the building was. But he knew. He'd read up on them, extensively, with access to data he shouldn't, legally, have had access to. The Martha Wayne Foundation Educational Grant refurbished two schools every three months, but nobody really asked _how_ they were refurbishing it.

********

Waller might have sent Zoe anywhere. But Rick wasn't ashamed to say that he wasn't made of the same mettle as she was; he wasn't comfortable with the idea that an innocent little girl could end up in just any damn school. Too fancy, and she'd be thoroughly ostracised and ridiculed by an unforgiving, narcissistic elite. Not fancy enough, and her chances of viably getting into a high-class college on her own ability would be essentially scuppered; and he knew enough from his own childhood the drive some kids had, growing up in a fractured home. His own morals wanted Zoe to have a chance to grow, never mind the deal that Lawton made with Waller.

********

So Rick had picked a nice mid-to-upper range school - good location, good teachers, a lot of experience with scholarship kids and very personalised classrooms. And now he was panting outside the door of the very same room he'd vetted himself, being pushed along by frightened parents and children alike, looking for a familiar little girl with her hair in braids -

********

There.

********

Zoe was sitting at her table, hands pinched in her lap, eyes downcast. She had to know her mom wasn't coming; even Rick wasn't sure where that woman was. Once or twice she glanced up, at a passing parent embracing their child, or a classmate packing up their bags, relieved to be going home. Her eyes passed over Rick, still clutching the doorframe, heart beating against his chest. She blinked, went back to him, _stared._ Her mouth opened; he couldn’t hear her gasp with the din of the other people, but her eyes filled with tears, face crumbling with relief.

********

Barely conscious of his movements, Rick surged forward, slicing through the crowd and landing in front of Zoe, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands.

********

"It's okay," he said. "You remember me?"

********

She nodded, sniffing; but her game face slotted into place and she gave him a little smile. "Of course. You're Mr Flag. Daddy's friend."

********

Rick grinned ruefully, but didn't contradict her. "That's right, sweetheart."

********

"Is my Daddy here?" she asked, unable to keep the hope from her voice. Her shoulders slumped a second later; he hadn't needed to speak for her to know what the answer was.

********

"I'm sorry, Zoe," he said, quietly. "But I'm here to help. Your Daddy was worried, so I came to check up on you."

********

Zoe frowned. "Why was daddy worried? All I write about are the nice things that happen."

********

Rick replied, slowly. "Well...he hadn't been getting any letters, you see. So he was worried."

********

Alarmed, Zoe sat back. "What?!"

********

Rick stared. "What?"

********

"But I send my letters every day!" Zoe exclaimed. Tears started to come up again, the stress of the situation giving rise to a fresh wave of upset. "Every single day! I want my Daddy to know I love him and I'm okay! Why wasn't he getting my letters?"

********

Rick's stomach sank. Lawton had been right. Zoe _did_ write to him - and something had blocked her letters, probably before they'd ever left Gotham. For over a week.

********

What in the _hell_ was going on?

********

"Zoe, I need you to listen to me -" he began quietly, but he was interrupted by a woman coming up behind Zoe, a firm, suspicious look on her face.

********

"Hello," she said, frostily. "I'm Zoe's homeroom teacher. Are you with her mother?"

********

Rick's mouth dropped and Zoe let out a peal of laughter.

********

"Oh my gosh, Ms Pewter-Schmidt!" she giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. " _No._ This is Mr Rick Flag. He's _Daddy's_ friend."

********

The teacher's face went through a serious of complicated emotions - confusion, realisation, and, horrifyingly...embarrassment.

********

"I'm _so_ sorry," the teacher apologised sincerely. "I shouldn't have assumed - I didn't mean - we're _very_ open-minded here, I want to assure you -"

********

"It's fine," interrupted Rick, mind wailing, but instincts telling him not to waste time clearing up the glaring misunderstanding. "Look, I need to get Zoe out of here."

********

Suddenly the woman was all business, handing Flag a clipboard and a pen.

********

"Of course, absolutely," she said. "If you don't mind, could you sign off next to Zoe's name? That way we know that she hasn't just disappeared on us."

********

He nodded, signing quickly and taking Zoe's backpack for her. The throngs of parents and children were starting to die down a little, leaving enough space that Rick didn't feel the urge to pick up the young girl and just barrel down the stairs.

********

“Okay, Zoe?” he said, shouldering her backpack. She looked up at him, sniffed once, and took his hand. He squeezed it, swallowing against the fear that rose in his chest when he realised just how tiny her hands were – she _his_ responsibility. He wasn’t going to let her down. Inhaling, he led the way down the stairs. “We’re gonna head back to your house and we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

********

Zoe only nodded wordlessly; Rick couldn’t blame her.

********

God, he hoped he could figure this out.

********

~~~~~

********

The little apartment was exactly as Rick remembered; homely, tidy, with touches of sentimentality here and there. Rick had immediately gone to all the windows and drawn the curtains, taking up position in one that overlooked the main street. Across the road, about a half mile out, was a Wayne Foundation building; already he could see people heading up the steps, looking for shelter against the inevitable fallout of human nature.

********

But after a few minutes they came back out again, after banging the front doors, wandering like helpless ants trying to avoid an invisible boot. Rick frowned, hand instinctively going to one of the guns hidden in his jacket, fingers pressing against the comforting, familiar solidity of the metal.

********

"Mr Flag?"

********

Zoe's small hand came up to tug at his shirt sleeve, and Rick was faced with a wide-eyed pre-teen, her composure in the face of danger now crumbling away with the onset of this new terror. In a wave of paternalistic affection, Rick put his arm around the girl, the daughter of his incarcerated subordinate, and hugged her roughly, trying to instil her with courage and confidence he wasn't quite sure he felt.

********

"It's okay, Zoe, all right?" he said. "We'll find a way out. I'm gonna get you to your Dad, where it's safe. You just need to be strong, for a little longer. Okay?"

********

She sniffed, rubbing her lip and looking away. "...I'm scared," she admitted quietly, and the words made her scrunch up her eyes, like she was ashamed at the fact she'd said them out loud. He went down to her level, half kneeling, and put both hands on her shoulder, shaking her very gently.

********

"Zoe," he said. "Zoe, sweetheart, you gotta look at me, okay? Look at me. It's going to be okay. I've been in much worse situations that this and made it out without a scratch. We're going to be fine. Believe in me, okay? Okay?"

********

Big brown eyes filled up with tears, Zoe Lawton visibly steeled herself and nodded, once. Rick's chest panged; this little girl had more guts and bravery than a lot of men he'd known in service. Floyd Lawton really did have something to be proud of.

********

"Thatta girl," he said, clapping her shoulders. "You're a credit to your old man, you know that?"

********

She beamed suddenly, the tears now bright against the backdrop of her glowing eyes. Rick couldn't help but smile back; it looked like, for once, he'd actually said the right thing.

********

"There's a gun club in my junior high's partnered university," she said, offhandedly.

********

"Not a blasted chance, sweetheart," replied Rick, standing up now and double-checking his own gun. "You're going to Harvard, on your Dad's orders. Or Yale. You know, whichever takes your fancy. World's your oyster, y'know."

********

She giggled, wiping at her eyes. "Daddy's so silly, sometimes."

********

Rick couldn't quite find it in himself to agree, but honestly he was just glad that Zoe no longer seemed close to crying - so all he did was nod and smile and give her head a bit of a rub, making her snort and roll her eyes. She trotted over to the kitchen, rummaging through a cupboard, and Rick turned his attention back to the street, frowning again.

********

Why was the Wayne building refusing people? It couldn’t have possibly hit capacity yet. It was the lynchpin to this stretch of town, the only specially reinforced building for several blocks, filled with supplies and independent generators, designed for everything from earthquakes to hurricanes to domestic terrorism. His first plan was now in quicksand, and he was running out of options depressingly quick.

********

He hadn't been prepared for a lock down - all he had were two guns and four rounds of ammo, carefully hidden in his jacket. His clothing was normal clothing - just jeans, a shirt, and boots – with a basic reinforced vest underneath. He had his phone, which he wasn't sure if he could risk using, and his wallet, which was now absolutely useless seeing as the likelihood of Gotham descending into chaos was extremely certain.

********

Except it wasn't happening. Not really. Nobody on the street was running, and the streets…were clearing. Slowly but surely. No crashed cars, no looters in the windows…but every now and again, something flickered, something just on the edge of his vision, _shadows…_

********

"Um, Mister Flag?"

********

Rick turned his head from the window, observing the emptying streets, and saw Zoe standing in the small kitchen area, holding a box of mac and cheese. He smiled at her, and she smiled bashfully back.

********

"Dad says I'm only allowed to eat junk food if there's a disaster," she explained. "The last time Scarecrow filled the streets with fear gas, Dad let me eat six cans of spaghetti-o's while he taped up all the windows."

********

"Six?" Rick knew he probably should have been focussing on the idea that Zoe seemed very calm about domestic terror attacks - as well as the vision of Floyd Lawton duct taping vents while his daughter ploughed her way through six tins of cheap pasta in cheaper tomato sauce - but he had to pause. Zoe grinned.

********

"Yeah," she said, putting the box of mac and cheese on the counter and pulling a measuring jug out of the cupboard. "I know now that he was just trying to distract me."

********

"I bet it worked," Rick found himself saying, drawing away from the window.

********

"It did," she replied, now opening the fridge and searching for the milk. "I puked all night. Didn't even know at the time that there was fear gas in the streets."

********

"How old were you?" he asked. Zoe wrinkled her nose, trying to think back.

********

"Uhm...like, six or seven, maybe?" she hazarded. Then she got a smug grin. "No, I was six. 'Cause Daddy made the mistake of saying I could have as much as I could eat, and I wanted to eat as many as I was old. He learned his lesson, anyway!"

********

And she laughed softly to herself, starting the microwave process. Rick just watched her work, noting the practiced movements of a child long-since used to looking after herself.

********

"So..." he said, finally, once Zoe had started digging into a steamy, creamy mound of oozy pasta. He'd politely declined; rich dairy wasn't really his friend. "You've gone through these things before?"

********

Zoe shrugged. "Not like this. But explosions, and crazy things, yeah. All the people that hate Batman - Joker, Scarecrow, Penguin. They don't care what they wreck. It was worse where I used to live." She pushed her pasta around on her plate, looking shyly up at Rick. "It's better now."

********

"Right." Rick just watched her eat for a little while, occasionally glancing out the window. After a minute he cleared his throat and started, awkwardly: "Listen, Zoe...about your Dad...I know it must be difficult -"

********

"It's okay, Mister Flag," she cut in. "I know how jail works."

********

She kept eating - the kid was a bottomless, methodical pit. Rick wasn't sure what to say after that, so he kept quiet, just leaning back into the chair. 

********

"It's my fault he's in there," she added, randomly. "It's my fault if something bad happens to him."

********

She stopped eating. The fork slowly slid across the plate, mound of pasta only half-eaten. And Rick's heart slowly broke as he saw the pain that crumbled that little face into a thousand terrible pieces. Almost unconsciously, he left his chair, kneeling next to Zoe as the young girl began to cry.

********

"You want your Daddy, don't you?" he said, gently, rubbing her back. She nodded, sobbing. "Ah kid. I think when you say it's okay...it's really not. I think this is all very hard for you."

********

She slipped into his hug and just kept crying. Rick didn't have much experience with crying - especially not crying little girls - but he tried to channel...well, a Dad. A _good_ Dad. He held her tight, rocked her back and forth, rubbed her back, and generally just let her get it all out of her system, or at least as much as she could manage.

********

"I just want my Daddy," she cried. "Daddy always makes the junk food. And then he tells me stupid stories. And when the morning comes again, everything's all right, and we're safe again. Daddy makes it better."

********

"Your Daddy sent me," said Rick, shushing her. "See? He's thinking about you all the time. He couldn't come himself, but he sent me. And I'm gonna figure it out, Zoe, I promise. I'm gonna make it better."

********

"You're just one person," she sobbed. "You can't fix a whole city. You can't make it better."

********

"'Course I can!" he exclaimed. "I'm even better than your Dad. I'm your Dad's boss."

********

Unexpectedly, Zoe burst into giggles, wheezing through her tears until she could only wipe them away and smile up at him.

********

"Oh boy, Mister Flag," she said, faintly grinning. "If you think you're the boss of my Dad, I've got some baaaad news for you."

********

Rick found himself laughing along with her, just glad that there was something to break the tension. He snagged a paper towel from the kitchen and let her mop herself up while he waited patiently.

********

“…sorry, Mister Flag,” she sniffed eventually, and he squeezed her shoulder, smiling gently down at her.

********

“Zoe, crying is totally normal,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. This is a tough situation, but we’re gonna figure it out, I promise. I’ll get you to your Dad, and everything’s gonna be okay.”

********

She looked down, swallowing hard.

********

“Mister Flag…” she said, quietly. “Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

********

He knelt and put both hands on her shoulders, waiting until she looked up at him, and he held her gaze.

********

“Or you can believe in me, Zoe,” he said. “Believe in me, and I’ll get you to your Dad. I might just be one person, but I can still do some pretty awesome things. Okay?”

********

Her watery smile was all he needed for confirmation. For good measure, he wrapped her in a hug, relieved when she gave a big sigh and relaxed against him.

********

Inside, of course, he was kicking himself. His eyes flicked to the window and he thought:

********

_What the hell am I going to do?_

********

~~~~~

********

Four days later, the answer was, inevitably: not a lot.

********

The streets had remained absolutely barren. The apartment was filled with food, and the electricity and water still worked, so it was almost like a little vacation; up until he cracked, and tried to call June.

********

It was blocked.

********

He tried calling the number of the local pizza place, but that was blocked too. After some experimentation, he’d discovered that the landline could make local calls, but anything without a Gotham prefix wouldn’t go through. So there was that. Internet was blocked too, aside from local sites. They were, without a shadow of a doubt, being hemmed in.

********

The shadows – whatever the hell they were – had grown more prolific. The sky had darkened, and with it, all optimism and drive was dampened. Rick had no idea what the miasma and the shadows were supposed to be, but the memories of Midway lurked constantly around the edges of his thoughts, and as the days passed he – and Zoe – found it more and more difficult to relax, to sleep, to eat regular meals. It was as though their bodies were tingling with the uncomfortable, subconscious knowledge that somehow, somehow, they were being watched by something that was sizing them up for dinner.

********

The streets remained empty. Rick didn’t know what would happen if they ran into one of the those shadows, but he was willing to bet it wouldn’t be pretty.

********

This was terrorism, he knew, but not by some nutcase with a grudge. This was at every level. And eventually time dragged on so much that he could no longer justify reconnaissance from the apartment window, even with the danger of the shadows; they had to move, because there was something, invisible, closing in on them and Rick’s instincts were screaming at him to move. Their best bet was still the Wayne building across the park – even with bullet proof glass, there were dirty ways of opening doors he’d learned over the course of his military career – and in any case, he needed access to better supplies. There was only so much he could do with some household batteries and a kitchen knife; he needed to equipment in the building. Hopefully the days that had passed since the bridges were bombed meant that whoever was blocking the cell towers had lowered their guard a bit, and he could get some backup, or identify possible exit points.

********

In any case, it was time to move. Zoe took the news with a stoic nod, slipping off the kitchen chair and pulling her school backpack from underneath the table. He gave her the job of provisions supervisor - having a defined role would help her focus and feel less helpless - and she very seriously packed her bag with very sensible items; two hand-held flashlights, non-perishable snacks, water bottles...it was like she'd actually thought about what she'd take on a life-or-death mission into an uncertain territory. Then again, maybe she had. Maybe she'd daydreamed about growing up, breaking into Belle Reve and rescuing her Dad. Rick couldn't blame her; it had to be more than tough, having a Dad in jail for multiple life sentences, their only contact excruciatingly parcelled out in hours and minutes. Her resilience, her optimism, her dedication; all of her was more than a credit to Deadshot - it was credit to _her._

********

"Ready?" he asked quietly, and her young face hardened as she nodded. Without any further words, Rick opened the door to the apartment.

********

He very nearly screamed.

********

Katana, in full regalia, was sitting outside in the corridor.

********

“What the ever-living fuck,” he said, succinctly, and she titled her head at him, silently. Zoe peeked out from behind him and the two held a long, assessing gaze.

********

“Oh, you must be Katana,” said Zoe, matter-of-factly. “Would you like to come in?”

********

Katana nodded, and Rick stepped backwards as the woman slipped into the apartment. She didn’t bother looking around, which gave Rick the nervous feeling that she was already intimately aware of her surroundings – which meant that _she already knew what the apartment looked like, **which meant that she’d been there before at some point.**_

********

"Not that I'm not happy to see you," said Rick, carefully. "But what the hell are you doing here?"

********

"I’m the neighbour; I live next door," she said, as usual replying in Japanese, and he almost, almost thought she might have just made a joke, if Katana ever, ever, ever joked, ever. Then she added: "Amanda Waller send me four weeks ago. To watch over Zoe Lawton."

********

Four weeks ago, sang Rick's brain. Watch over Zoe Lawton.

********

"Son of a bitch," he blurted. "She knew. She knew the whole time we were fucked."

********

"...Mister Flag?"

********

Oh, shit - he'd forgotten Zoe, the young girl staring up at him with an amused expression on her face.

********

"Uhh..." He swallowed. "Don't tell your Daddy I was swearing in front of you."

********

She smiled, rolling her eyes easily, and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he he'd been holding. He glanced back at Katana, still dressed in her combat gear - had she been camping out in that for four weeks? Even on tour they'd had a change of shirts.

********

"Why didn't you show earlier?" he asked. "I know we're not best buddies or anything, but we've worked together before. You could have let me in on your mission."

********

She shook her head.

********

"I was maintaining the perimeter," she said. "There are things that only I can see, but that can still hurt you. Demons, possessing humans. My sword cried out for their souls."

********

"Oh, jesus," breathed Rick. "Then those - things? Those shadows?"

********

"They're not from earth," said Katana. "They're coming from Hell. The souls in my sword cry out in terror from the energy this city is steeped in. And with each passing moment, the walls grow thinner, and the portal opens up a little more. Smaller demons are making their way into our world - some visible, others not. Gotham is overrun. Only if the portal is closed before the final summoning is complete will they be pulled back into their dimension."

********

"Jesus," said Rick. "Your sword told you all that?"

********

Katana inclined her head.

********

"I also tortured eight men for details on the appearances of the demons," she added. "They were surprisingly reticent."

********

Rick felt briefly proud of himself for knowing the word reticent in Japanese, but it was quickly overrun by the overwhelming sensation of helplessness. He couldn't let it show, though - he had Zoe to think of. He had to be strong for her sake, so that she wouldn't be afraid.

********

"Right. Well, you've shown yourself now, so I assume we'll travel together?"

********

Katana nodded, and Rick withheld a sigh - both of tiredness and relief - and readjusted his weapon.

********

"All right," he said, giving Zoe a small smile. "We need to get across that park, all the way to the Wayne building. Okay?"

********

Zoe nodded. "It's a distance of about half a mile. We've been doing circuit in gym class, so I should be okay."

********

Rick grinned down at her matter-of-factness. "Good. Got your bag?"

********

She patted her cute backpack; a normal grey, but there was a little pink diamond butterfly for the big zipper, and smaller pink diamonds for the side and top pockets. A couple of classmates had written childish messages on the sides in white-out and marker - hearts and x's, a teddy bear. God, he hoped those other kids were gonna be okay.

********

"Okay. Katana, take rear, I'll take point. Zoe, stay between us, okay? We're going to be going fast, since it's an open area, but we've gotta keep an eye out."

********

"It's okay, Mister Flag," said Zoe confidently - although the white-knuckled grip on her bag straps belied her tone a little. "My Daddy's Deadshot. He might disown me if I can't even see a big demon coming."

********

Rick laughed, and Zoe actually relaxed a little, so he put a hand briefly against the top of her head.

********

"It's going to be okay," he said, and he was swearing it just as much to himself as he was to her. "We'll be over there in a matter of minutes. No problem."

********

He turned to lead the way, and caught Katana eyeing him from behind her mask. She nodded, once, and took up rear. Rick readied his gun, and opened the front door.

********

God help them. It was time to go.

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost didn't manage to upload this today! I was so freaking tired today...ate a lot of junk food as well, which was niiiiice. Gonna go to bed now.
> 
> Yeah, we got to see what happened to Rick (and Zoe, and Katana, apparently...:3)! Consider leaving a comment, they're really nice to get, and I'll see you all next week! :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Saturday 15th April 2017. Enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Guest appearances this chapter! Have fun ;-)

Something was off, but Floyd couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Ivy had strolled out of the greenhouse, fresh and green and not at all pissed off, carrying a load of flowering vines around her shoulders like they were grown pythons. This wasn’t really a bad thing, but the more Floyd looked out at the street and the surrounding area, the more he realised that they had a problem. A big, _serious_ problem. And the others – two not being from Gotham and one more used to navigating it from below ground – had no idea what kind of huge problem they had.

Ivy, of course, was fine – happy as anything, stroking her healthy flowers and vines, a susurrus of movement rising from the darkness of the greenhouses. Moon had done whatever mojo Ivy had wanted, and now everything was nice and peachy – especially the peach trees.

Just one. _Teeny._ Issue.

"Ivy." Floyd turned to her after ripping his eyes away from the Wayne building, anger rising. "That ain't the right building."

"What?" she replied, carelessly. "Of course it is."

Except it wasn’t. It was the angle, that was it. Floyd just thought he couldn’t see the strip of river because the light was too bad, and Ivy’s building was in a weird position with regards to the surrounding brownstones and brickhouses and glass-and-steel monstrosities. But it wasn’t the building, it was _his_ expected perspective that was making everything off. He’d let himself get distracted by the atmosphere and didn’t take account of landmarks.

"You said -" Floyd marched up to her, but was stopped short by a medley of vines snaking out into front of Ivy, the rasp of foliage akin to the hissing of venomous snakes. Ivy cooed at them like they were babies, or cute animals.

"Now, now," she shushed, and they relaxed, slowly slinking away. She fixed him with a decidedly uncaring smile.

“You got your tank to fix my babies," she said. "And I _did_ promise not to kill you. So, you know, I won’t. But you should get off my property. _Now.”_

“Fuck you,” said Floyd, quietly. Oh, there was a Wayne building opposite Ivy’s place all right – but it wasn’t the one opposite Zoe’s apartment block. Ivy had taken them a weird route, using the darkness and the panic to mask the fact that she was taking them someplace at least an hour’s walk away from where he needed to be.

Ivy just smirked.

“Don’t even think about trying to steal my jeep,” she said, gliding deeper into her greenhouse. “I’ve got it booby-trapped. Bye-bye, Deadshot.”

Floyd smashed an empty crate on his way out. None of the others said anything, just followed him with a short glance at each other.

They marched out of the building, taking care on the deadly stairs, and kicking open the front door so hard it nearly flew off its hinges. Floyd tried, he _tried_ to tamp down on his impatience and frustration - it was just one city. _One. City._ How come it was _this fucking hard_ just to get across a couple of blocks and back to his baby girl? Why were there obstacles on every avenue, every time he tried to -

"Uhhh..." said Boomerang, tapping his shoulder. "Mate...potential problem..."

Floyd became aware of the roaring of several cars and he turned his eyes heavenward.

"What _now,"_ he griped, and he turned, pulling out his guns. The others readied themselves as well, although Boomerang had definitely angled himself so that they mostly shielded him from any potential bullets, because he was an asshole. The cars approached quickly, lights bright and colours crazy, and they stopped in a ring around them amidst a squeal of tires and plumes of exhaust. A car door flew open, and a dainty, familiar figure popped out, balancing between the roof and the door.

"OH MY GOD!" screamed Harley Quinn. "You guys came to visit! Eeeee!!!"

~~~~~

The Joker wanted them dead, Floyd was sure of it. He didn't like the way Harley was so easy with them, so relaxed and shy at the same time. The nutcase watched them all like a hungry dog, dark eyes flicking back and forth, permanent grimace on his face flashing his ugly silver teeth. He sat on the bonnet of his car, thumbs tucked into his waistband.

Floyd swallowed. Politely declined the offer of a beer from Harley, didn't say a word as she chattered because the look in Joker's eyes spoke only of painful, lengthily death. Kept his ears and eyes sharp for any hint of a movement. Boomerang looked to be doing the same, although Croc was exuding his usual aura of genuinely not giving a shit about anything. 

Suddenly, Joker moved, sliding in between the group, pressing his face into their faces and examining each closely. Predictably - if anything about the Clown Prince of Crime could be predictable – he singled out Moon as the weakest antelope. He extended a smile to her.

"Well, hello," he said, slowly.

"Hello," replied Moon. To Floyd's surprise, she seemed utterly calm.

"And what's your name, sweet little girl?"

"Sorry," said Moon. "Dad said not to talk to strangers."

Stunned silence followed. The Joker clapped his hands and began to laugh - god, it was horrible. Especially since Harley joined in, clearly finding it as funny as her nutcase boyfriend.

"Don't worry, sweetie," she giggled. "Daddy's right here."

Floyd was gonna puke. Joker's laugh trailed off, and he waited with surprising patience, until Moon reluctantly replied.

"Enchantress," she said. Joker titled his head back to Harley.

"Enchantress..." he repeated. "Isn't that the witch girl you were telling me, baby?"

Harley nodded. "Yeah, baby. 'Cept we iced her."

"Her power remains," said Moon. "I'm Enchantress now in ways she never was."

"...trippy," said the Joker, smiling widely, and he lost interest, moving on to the next person - Boomerang. He looked the other man up and down, but his mouth twisted and he gave a little grunt of boredom. When he walked right past Boomerang without even saying a word, the other man somehow managed to look both relieved and offended.

"So, crocodile man," said the Joker, standing chest to chest with his next piece of entertainment. "What are you here for?"

Croc grunted. "The hell of it."

There was silence, but slowly the Joker broke it with a gradual wheeze that turned into a slow, hiccuping laugh.

"That -" He pointed to Croc, while glanced around at his followers -"Is a reptile after my own heart."

_Yeah,_ thought Floyd. _Cold-blooded._ Croc, meanwhile, had bared his teeth as a sort of response.

"Hate to break the party up," said Floyd, finally, even though he was loath to attract the Joker's attention to him. "But we've got to get going. There's a lot of ground to cover, and we need to get there as soon as possible."

Harley pouted, clearly disappointed, but then she brightened up with some clever idea. 

"That's okay!" she said. "You guys can have my ride!"

"Baby..." said the Joker, baring his teeth in a terrible smile. "I'm sure _we're_ going in the opposite direction."

Harley pouted. "But Puddin'! If _they're_ here, that means somethin's gonna _explode_ and people are gonna _die!_ It'll be messy and crazy, just how we liiiike it... _pleeeease...?"_

Joker considered it, and the Squad held their collective breath, extremely certain that they were looking into the face of death. Eventually Joker let out a harsh noise and grimaced again, snapping his fingers. One of the henchmen stepped forward and tossed Floyd a set of keys.

"You can take the orange one," he said. "Clashes with my suit, anyway."

"Oh, Puddin'!" exclaimed Harley, throwing her arms around his neck. Floyd was insanely creeped out by the way Joker watched them all as he slowly stroked Harley's back, smiling horribly.

"Aw...one day I'm gonna have to say no to you..." he cooed. "But not today, I guess."

He yanked her hair abruptly, tossing her away from him. The Clown Prince was already bored, and Harley rubbed at her scalp gently when he looked away.

"Now get these losers out of my sight," said the Joker, pulling open the front door of a gleaming purple Chevrolet. "We're going bat hunting."

Harley skipped forward to the others, beaming.

"Sorry I can't go with youse guys," she said, seemingly sincere. "But you heard Puddin'! Gotta go huntin'!"

"Yeah," said Floyd slowly. He smiled, tightly, and shook the keys in his hand. "Thanks for the ride."

A smile broke across Harley's face - more genuine than anything he'd seen all night. There was hesitancy in her eyes, and on impulse, he added.

"Be safe. A'right?"

She nodded. The Joker honked his horn, loudly, patience gone.

"Harley, if you're not in this car in the next twelve seconds, I'm lighting your buddies up!"

Her eyes widened and she jumped back, making for the car.

"See you boys later!" she called out. "Don't die, losers!"

Then the cars all revved up and sped away, almost all at once. Floyd and the others stared down the street until the sound of the engines disappeared, and then, collectively, they blinked.

"Jesus." Floyd shook his head. "Let's. Just fuckin' go."

~~~~~

They just drove, without speaking, for the remaining distance, until the edge of the familiar Wayne Building began to poke its way from behind the surrounding buildings.

"Sooo..."

"Not now, Boomerang," snapped Floyd, and the other man flopped back, disgruntled.

"A'right, a'right," he grumbled. "I'm just saying -"

"Well don't."

"Her boyfriend's a bit of a prick, isn't he?"

Floyd snorted. "Man."

"I'm just saying!" Boomerang sniffed. "Not much of a reunion, eh? Not even one hug."

"Of course there weren't any fuckin' hugs, man," said Floyd, sharply turning a corner. "That crazy was watching us like hawks. Waiting to see if Harley liked us more than him, and if she did, oh boy. We'd be fucked. Might still be fucked."

Boomerang turned this over in his head for a few moments, brow creasing.

"...he's really bad, isn't he?"

Floyd snorted again.

"Man, there's us, and then there's the Joker. That guy isn't just another level - he's a different fuckin' universe."

"...and Harley's just...dating him."

Floyd grunted. "Yeah. If you can call it 'dating'."

"...the sex must be _fucked up..."_ said Boomerang wonderingly, and Floyd spared enough attention from the route to punch him in the arm.

"Ow!"

"Man, shut the fuck up! Jesus! Jesus, what a mental image. What the fuck."

"I'm only saying..." whined Boomerang.

"Well quit. Sayin'." Floyd turned his attention back to the road, just in time to see something really fucking weird.

Monsters - maybe? It was like his eyes wouldn't let him look right at the...shapes - were converging in a massive ring. Boomerang swore and even Croc sat up when Floyd hit the brakes, just about managing to stop the car without flipping it.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck -" Boomerang was scrabbling for the door handle and they all fell out of the car, seconds before a monster crashed right into it - on purpose, the fuck, because it was definitely, definitely laughing at them.

"Hell no," said Floyd, but the monster seemed to disagree - it advanced, all the wrong shades of green-grey-blue and drooling yellow, four arms raised -

Then -

A scream.

"Zoe," breathed Floyd, and he saw, in the middle of the disaster, the body of Rick Flag clutched in the hideous paw of another monster, face red from suffocation, gun still clutched in a limp arm.

Zoe screamed again. Boomerang was swearing, Croc was roaring, and, as one, the Squad advanced.

"Oh, HELL NO!" Floyd bellowed, and took aim.

~~~~~

**A few minutes earlier...**

Rick, Zoe, and Katana made their way silently down the stairs, heading straight to the front door of the building, stopping by silent consensus to scope the exterior. Outside was eerily empty; it echoed Midway, really, and that was almost enough to send shivers down his spine. He tamped down on his superstition, however, and scanned the area - down, side to side, and most importantly, up. Nothing was there. No demons - and no people. Not even so much as a pigeon.

"Katana," he said. "See anything weird? Your sword going off?"

"No," she replied, quietly. "I suggest we go."

"Good plan," he agreed, grimly. "Okay, Zoe?"

"On three?" she said, and he smiled back down at her, taking her hand tightly in his.

"On three," he repeated. "One - two -"

They began to run - a slower pace than usual, sure, but pretty fast considering how short Zoe's legs were by comparison. It wasn't that far - okay, half a mile was kinda far when you had to run with a small girl in tow - but the expanse was clear, and Katana made no noise of warning.

Turns out, there was no time give a warning. They must have tripped some kind of invisible magic trap wire or suddenly, because into between one blink and the next, there were monsters.

Zoe screamed. Katana and Rick both cursed, in more than their native languages, and careened to a stop, pulling their weapons up. The demons themselves were in the midst of becoming corporeal, growling and hissing and a shrieking. For a moment Rick entertained the idea that they couldn't see them, but then something with way too many eyes turned them all on his group and made an unmistakable sound of triumph. The others followed suit, clicking grey slimy beaks and gnashing yellow, rotting teeth. With a sinking sense of horror, Rick realised that they weren't just making random noises - they were talking to each other. They were sizing them up - grinning.

The monsters were sentient. They knew what humans were. And they were drawing themselves up to kill the three of them - because they could, because they wanted to.

Rick raised his gun and shot one in the forehead - possibly the forehead - point blank. The sound stopped the others in their tracks, and they all stopped to watch the first monster stumble back, and keel slowly over. There was a pause.

Then all the monsters burst out into horrific laughter. Rick's hand trembled, and Zoe put a terrified hand against his jacket.

Katana decapitated a monster - the one with the million eyes. Its body dissolved into nothing, and the monsters stopped laughing. Rick began firing shots, one after the other, and all the monsters rushed the group, one of the larger ones easily grabbing Rick by the throat, crushing him. It made dark, nasty promises into his face, its mouth opening to reveal four extra heads, all talking in a hideous language. Rick wheezed, the combination of the acrid breath and constricting hand making spots dance in front of his eyes. The thing's hand was so big it enclosed his entire upper body, and it seemed to be molding to fit his limbs, rendering his gun useless.

Somewhere behind him, Zoe was screaming. Katana was shouting in Japanese, but Rick couldn't concentrate on the words. Every last iota of his remaining strength was aimed at trying to raise his gun, just a bit, just a bit more, but he wasn't getting enough oxygen. The five voices from the one monster was seeping into his ears, liquefying his brain. He couldn't be sure if he lost his vision or simply closed his eyes - either way, he was fading, fading, fading -

_Oh god, Zoe,_ he thought. _I'm so sorry. Oh god, Lawton. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm -_

A peal of gunshots cut through the air. The monster holding him dropped him like a stone and Rick collapsed, boneless and near-insensate on the ground. Somebody was shaking him.

"Mister Flag -" It was Zoe, sounding urgent. "Mister Flag, Mister Flag, Mister Flag, get up, get up, get up -"

He peeled open his eyes, trying to breathe. Standing above him, decked out in red and black, was Deadshot, arms raised and guns blazing. Shells rained down as he emptied his weapons into the monsters - it took a helluva lot, but they did go down, one by one.

"Rick!"

And suddenly, there was June - June, June, June - with dark veins and ancient eyes and that wonderful smile. She was glowing with her power, extending protective tendrils around her blind spots, and when she leaned in to kiss him, softly, on his mouth, all pain and fatigue disappeared.

He deepened the kiss, just for a moment - there was a kid present, after all - before he managed to sit up. June sat opposite him, smiling shyly.

"We came to rescue you guys," she said, softly. "Surprise."

"That's a helluva surprise," he said, and grabbed her in a tight hug. As he embraced her, he looked around; the fight was well in hand. Deadshot was easily covering them, and Boomerang was on the other side, sending those impossible weapons flying with his usual deadly accuracy. Katana was fighting two enemies, and Croc was simply going from monster to monster, picking them up and shredding them into pieces.

"Y'all ain't got nothin'!" he was shouting to the increasingly terrified monsters. "Y'all think you're shit? Ya'll're _nothin'!"_

"I think he's enjoying himself," whispered June as she pulled out of the embrace. Rick nodded wordlessly.

"Ey, Rick," said Lawton. "If you're done your tearful reunion, mind covering my back for a change?"

Rick just grinned and helped June stand, pulling out a gun from one of Deadshot's many holsters.

"No problem," he said, taking his spot and beginning to fire. June raised both hands, suffused with green energy, and started going for it - gorgeous, amazing. "Go say hi to your little girl."

"Daddy," said Zoe tremulously, and that was all it took. His guns put away in a hot second, and then Lawton was on his knees, shaking daughter clutched in his arms. They stayed that way until the monsters - at first seemingly endless, but bit by bit worn down - were completely decimated. There were no remains; the defeated monsters disintegrated on death.

"Fuck me," said Boomerang in the silence that followed. Lawton glared up at him, and he gave a half-wince. "Uh - sorry, baby Lawton."

Zoe sniffed, big brown eyes still teary as she looked over at him, and Boomerang looked positively stricken. Rick would have found it funny, had he not known that Zoe was legitimately terrified.

"It's okay, sweetie, it's okay," soothed Lawton, personality flipping 180 in the presence of the only thing in the world that mattered to him. "The monsters are gone."

"Oh," said June, quietly, and Rick's stomach sank. "They're not."

She pointed up - up above the Wayne building was a darkening patch of miasma, and from there, a sickly yellow light glowed. It suddenly struck the top of the building like weakened lightning bolt, and the whole building glowed, disgustingly green.

"I need to go," she said, abruptly, her eyes on the light in the sky. "That's where the portal is concentrated - that's how the demons are getting out. I can stop more of them from getting through, but someone has to stop the spell casting itself."

Rick swallowed. But he didn't protest, or say she couldn't risk herself - especially not when she had that look on her face.

"Looks like the mission isn't over," he said, wearily, looking towards the Wayne building. Getting there was still the objective, but now instead of saving them...it might just get them killed instead.

~~~~~

Floyd kept his arms locked around Zoe, tight as he could risk, while she sniffed into his neck. The only reason he broke away was because of Flag's nutcase statement. He turned slowly towards them, nostrils flaring, trying to struggle against losing his temper while his baby girl was next to him. Meanwhile, Boomerang didn’t have the same problem.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa - shouldn't Moonie be coming with us?" exclaimed Boomerang, watching as Moon began to walk away from them, eyes fixed on the sky above them. To everyone’s shock – but not, exactly, surprise – she surrounded herself with energy and began to rise, to _fly_ towards the concentration of demons. "It seems like we'd need the extra ammo."

"June has to get up there to stop the demons coming through," said Flag, loading up. "If she doesn't, we'll have an even worse time of it trying to close the portal."

"And how in the hell are we going to do that?" asked Boomerang. Flag gave a little shrug, looking very tired.

"With whatever we've got," he replied. "We won't know the situation until we get in there."

"So, another suicide mission," said Boomerang, sounding peeved. But he still got his boomerangs out. Croc grumbled a little, and Floyd just glared.

"No," he said. Flag stared, confused.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked. "We're going in."

"No, we're not," said Floyd. "I'm not risking Zoe. I'm not leaving her behind. Call your girlfriend back down; she can teleport us out of here."

"Lawton!" exclaimed Flag. "I know you're worried about her, but this is an entire city - the world we're talking about here."

"I ain't a hero," he said. "My girl needs me more than anybody in this damn city, or the whole damn world."

Flag walked over to him, inside his personal space, and he looked straight into Floyd's eyes.

"And what happens when the problems in Gotham spill out into the rest of the world, Lawton?" he asked, quietly. "Demons aren't exactly the kind of problem that can be kept local."

Floyd snapped at the other man, trying to decide between a punch in the gut or right in the face, but Flag grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved their faces together, hissing.

"Lawton - _Lawton._ There’s only so far June can teleport us before those demons catch up. We keep trying to figure out how in the hell we're going to get out of this situation, but maybe there isn't an out. Maybe we're stuck here – until we _fix_ it.”

_"Don't_ you -" Floyd rounded on the man, furious in the face of Flag's grim, flat face. "We are _not_ just staying -"

"The mission's changed, soldier," said Flag quietly. "The only way out is up. We stop those monsters, we save the city - they'll build the bridges again, and we can get back home, safely. With the threat gone, they'll have no excuse not to open the place up and send real transport - we have to fight."

"I am _not_ your soldier," said Floyd hotly. "And I ain't your hero, neither!"

Then Zoe tugged his hand, and looked up at him with those big liquid brown eyes of hers.

"You're _my_ hero, Daddy," she said, clasping his big palm in her two tiny hands. "And I think Mister Flag is right."

Floyd dropped to his knees, taking Zoe's shoulders. "No - no, baby, you don't understand -"

"Daddy, I know you're scared," she continued, chewing her lip. "I'm scared too. But I also know that you can save the day - and that's what needs to happen. I need you to save Gotham, Daddy. Because things don't get better when you run away from them."

Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she sniffed, hard. He clenched her shoulders, his heart cracking in two inside his chest.

"Zoe, sweetie..." He swallowed, hard. "I don't know if I can do what you're asking me..."

"Yes you can, Daddy," she said. "You can do anything."

And she stepped forward and hugged him, tight around his neck, just like she had done a hundred times before, just like she had done that night, months ago, where'd she'd stood in front of Floyd's worst nightmare and asked him to do the impossible.

_And then he'd done it._

Because he'd do anything for her. And he didn't know how he was gonna do it, because he sure as hell didn't sign up for demons or saving cities or any of that damn mess, but he signed up to being Zoe's father the second he'd laid eyes on her in that hospital blanket, eight pounds six ounces of perfection and only getting more good as the years went on. And now this was what being Zoe's father meant - shit missions, and monsters, and being a hero. Anything less would disappoint her. Anything less might mean he'd fail her, and she'd die, along with him, his heart, his soul, and the whole damn city.

So he hugged her tightly, looked up at Flag with fiery hatred in his eyes and saw the moment Flag understood, the moment the other man nodded grimly and straightened his back. Floyd closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and then gently detached himself from his little girl, pressing his hand against her brave, brave face before letting her go.

"Be good for Katana, sweetie," he said, and to her credit the woman didn't even blink at Floyd's sudden assignation of responsibility. She took her place behind Zoe, resting one protective hand on her sword, and the other on Zoe's shoulder.

"I will protect your daughter," she said, in English, only a little fumbling around the edges of the words. They rang strong and true, sharp as the steel of her blade. Floyd didn't waste time with threats; she'd had a page in the binder as well, after all. And even if she hadn't, there was no mistaking her seriousness. She saw Zoe like Floyd did - precious. Important.

Worth dying for.

He didn't waste time on goodbyes, either; just locked eyes with Flag, who nodded again, and turned away from Zoe, rolling his shoulders and jerking his head at the other members of the Squad. To their credit, they all seemed to read the mood just fine, and as one, they began marching towards the writhing ethereal tower that was at the center of the whole damn mess. There were demons and magic in the middle of that swarming green mass; things that his guns were nearly useless against, but that he'd somehow have to take down anyway.

"So..." Boomerang sidled up beside him, pursing his lips at the rolling green miasma. "We're all gonna die, then?"

Floyd sighed and pulled out his guns. "Nah, man, you kiddin'? Zoe'd kill me."

Boomerang's gold tooth flashed as he hooted. "That girl's got you wrapped around her little finger," he crowed. Floyd gave him a Look.

"That girl's the only reason you ain't got a bullet in your head - yet." Floyd refocused his attention on the disastrous tableau in front of him, trying to figure a way in that was least obtrusive.

"Right, right..." Boomerang kept grinning as he cracked his knuckles, as unrepentant as ever. "So...how we doing this?"

Floyd set his mouth into a grim line, head already lined up with his potential targets, whatever the hell they might be.

"Any damn way we can," he replied. "Look alive. We're going in." 

~~~~~

There was – both ominously and conveniently – no resistance when they carefully advanced into the building, taking careful and slow cover behind a myriad of pillars and tall aesthetic lobby plants. Floyd swallowed, trying to get some moisture back in his dry throat, and stopped at a corner that – at his guess, anyway – led to a larger lobby that looked out onto the river. A nice spot for a casual coffee meeting, or an early lunch for business workers who didn’t quite feel like going back to their desks yet. The floor was honest-to-god marble – ostentatious, sickeningly so, and gorgeous. Pieces of art that were likely more expensive than his last two kills put together adorned the walls in tactful measures, some landscapes, others abstract, all of them very classy. Everything about it spoke of effortless wealth, unassuming and elegant, and it set Floyd’s teeth on edge. Give him a dive bar in the middle of the Slums, any day.

The corner was approaching, and beyond in was another wide room that was partially visible – a continuation of the marble floors and pillars, the pretty art pieces, the stylish pieces of furniture, the big windows. The group kept silent, moving as one with Floyd still on point, keeping his senses trained as they approached the end of their clear cover…

And there - lying smack bang in the middle of the room, spread-eagle, bloody, and unconscious - there he was. The Bat. Ready to die.

Almost without thinking, Floyd advanced towards the downed body, heart thumping hot in his chest, guns rising practically by themselves. He wanted that vigilante dead so bad he could _taste_ it, like acid coming up his throat. It didn't even cross his mind that the Bat might already be dead, might have fallen hours ago - the bastard's death _belonged_ to Floyd. To hell with everyone else in line - _Floyd was gonna kill him -_

"Lawton!" hissed Flag. Floyd ignored him, continuing to advance. He snarled when two arms clutched around his shoulders and chest - Croc had bodily picked him up and deposited him to the back of the line, well behind the corner. Livid, he turned to Flag - but Flag was already in his face.

"Are you fucking crazy, Lawton?" he snarled, albeit still in an undertone. "What happened to those sharpshooter eyes?"

"They see just fine, _Flag,"_ Floyd snapped, pointing his gun in the direction of the fallen man. "Imma go kill a guy - sit tight and _don't fuckin' touch me again."_

"Mate, are you touched in the fucking head?" whispered Boomerang, eyes wide. "How are you not seeing this crazy shit?"

Floyd turned on him. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"The monsters," said Croc, and Floyd stared.

"I ain't seen no monsters 'cept one," he said, finally. "And Imma go kill him. _If_ ya'll deign to _get out of my fuckin' way."_

Rick let out a harsh breath, visibly biting down on a torrent of swearwords.

"Fantastic," he said. "Fan-fucking-tastic. Our sharpshooter can't see our targets. Beautiful."

_"What_ are ya'll talkin' about?" exclaimed Floyd. He angled his head, but the foyer was totally empty - barring the mess, and the Bat. His trigger finger itched.

"Mate, the place is _crawling_ with nasties," Boomerang explained. He looked even twitchier than usual, eyes darting to things unseen over Floyd's shoulder, on the ceiling. "And when I say nasty, _I mean nasty._ I'm Australian, mate, I know what the fuck I'm talking about when I say those things look like they're straight from the worst kind of nightmare."

"And right in the center is a guy in a cloak, opening up some kind of portal with a summoning...spell. Thing," continued Rick. Floyd just looked at him like he was crazy, and poked his head around the corner, again.

Nope. Empty foyer. Except for his unconscious arch-nemesis. He drew back his head.

"Where the fuck is your girlfriend when we actually need her?" Floyd closed his eyes. "No, no, I know. Floating around in the sky, trying to battle the 'demon-source', what the fuck ever. And all we gotta do is shoot a guy we can't see, well that's just fine."

"Well, _we_ can see him," supplied Boomerang helpfully. "Just you can't."

"And why the fuck _can't_ I see him, anyway?" said Floyd. Boomerang grinned.

"You gotta _believe,_ mate," he said. "Like Tinkerbell."

"Like Tinkerbell," said Floyd, flatly. "Go fuck yourself. Like Tinkerbell. Man, fuck you."

"All right, all right," sighed Flag. "Look, maybe it's a good sign. Maybe the monsters aren't real, maybe they're just illusions."

"Yeah, and maybe it's our _fear_ that makes 'em real!" exclaimed Boomerang, looking extremely pleased with himself. Floyd rolled his eyes.

"Then how do you explain _that -"_ He jabbed his finger in the direction of the Bat -"you think _he's_ afraid of anything?"

"He's a man," said Flag. "Presumably. Everybody is afraid of something."

"But everybody _sees_ him, right?" asked Floyd. The others assented. "Okay, so _he's_ real. Imma go kill him, hold tight."

Flag wrenched him back with an iron grip. _"Lawton."_

But Floyd’s blood was thrumming too hot and he ripped himself away from Flag, readying his weapons and marching straight towards the Bat –

His head swam, his eyes were in agony. And when he opened them again, blinking through the tears, he – he –

He _saw._

Oh jesus, the monsters. And the asshole at the top of the steps, unmistakably opening up a portal. The Bat was forgotten for a whole four seconds as he raised his weapons at the cloaked figure, took aim, and –

Some yellow and cackling dropped from the ceiling. It was intangible, but it swept through him – and the rest of the crowd – as effortlessly as fog parting in front of a car. Then it rose up through the ceiling and disappeared into thin air.

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Boomerang, and the man dropped to his knees and began to cry. Croc stumbled against a wall, withdrawing into himself and seemingly beginning to hyperventilate, and Flag looked like shit, green and grey, hands going to his throat. But Floyd was okay – he coughed, hard, and shook his head – yeah, he was okay. He could still see, could still take aim, so he raised his weapons again and –

The figure turned to look at him, and Floyd felt the fear rise like bile in his throat. The room disappeared in front of his eyes and he could hear the yellow thing laughing at him, taste the pure inexorable tang of absolute terror and despair. It coursed through him, sour and bitterly cold, turning his stomach and clogging his throat. All he could hear was Zoe crying, Zoe in pain, Zoe dying. That’s what would happen if he moved for even a second –

_But if he didn’t move Zoe would die –_

If he dared raise his hand against this guy Zoe would die, she’d die, look at the flesh melting from her bones, hear her screaming –

_But if he didn’t move Zoe would die –_

God he was so afraid, he was so afraid, he was a bad man, a ruthless, worthless man, he’d never done a good thing in his life and now Zoe, sweet innocent wonderful Zoe, Zoe Zoe ZOE ZOE ZOE **ZOE ZOE –**

_What’s fear anyway?_

**ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE ZOE**

_If he didn’t move Zoe would die –_

If he moved then Zoe would die –

_It’s a lie –_

If he moved then Zoe would die, watch the flesh sizzle from her face, listen to her scream –

_If he didn’t move Zoe would die –_

But he was so afraid –

_Is my love stronger than my fear?_

**Y E S**

He moved – raised his guns and fired, fired, _fired._

Unfortunately, bullets weren't stronger than magic - not this time around. No matter how many he shot at the guy, none landed, and there was clearly magic involved, because Floyd couldn't even pick up the sounds of the bullets pinging off walls or the floor. The guy threw a ball of energy at them and it crackled across the ceiling, forcing them out of their safer position and into the lobby where the only cover was a few pillars and some plants.

"You're too late," said the man, calmly. His damn dramatic hood was masking even the colour of his skin. The voice was sonorous, reminiscent of the way the Enchantress - Mk. 1 - had spoken; of words fed directly into brains, lumpy grey flesh trying desperately to keep up with a translation from a language that only shadowy, ancient terrors spoke.

"What the hell are you?" shouted Floyd, heart hammering in his chest, the taste of vomit in his mouth. He was sweating hard like he’d finished a marathon, and behind him the others weren’t doing so well either.

"The beginning," said the man. "And the end. But barring such dramatics? You can call me...Darhk."

"Dark?" said Boomerang, from behind a potted plant.

"...no," replied the man, lowering his hands. "Darhk."

"Dark?"

"No, _Darhk."_ The man tapped his foot twice, revealing his irritation. "The 'h' is silent."

"Then why'd you bloody put it in?" said Boomerang. "Seems a bit redundant."

The man snapped, pulling off his hood and revealing a totally ordinary face. White, middle-aged male. Floyd could have called that one from the start.

_"Listen,_ you -" Darhk was abruptly cut off when Croc – out of fucking nowhere – collided into him with all the force of a medium-sized army jeep. He went flying across the steps, crashing into a wall and falling into a broken lump at the bottom. Although the portal itself seemed totally unaffected, Darhk himself groaned, the black cloak he'd been wearing not doing much to cover up the fact that his legs were at the wrong angle, and that he was upside down. Floyd allowed himself a moment to stare, half-way impressed. He glanced back at Croc, who was surveying his work with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"How hard did you hit him?" Floyd asked. Croc bared his teeth.

"As hard as I could," he replied. Floyd went back to staring at the umoving body.

"That's pretty fuckin' hard," he allowed, rolling his shoulders. His heart was starting to settle back to normal. "Where the hell did all the monsters go?"

"I saw a couple back there," said Croc. "But they're like...see-through now. We musta just been seeing like...the other side of that portal."

"Like a bleed," said Floyd. "A'right. Whatever. Any chance you could just punch the portal?"

"We need June down here," said Flag, coming up behind them, one hand digging for his radio. "I know the center seems to be up in the sky, but on the ground is where Darhk was controlling -"

His sentence ended in a cut-off choke. In a second they were all thrown to the ground, gasping for air as though an elephant was suddenly sitting on their chests. A figure, in a black cloak, entered their peripherals.

"Well," said Damien Darhk, somewhat waspishly. "At least you pronounced it right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! Hope you guys are enjoying it, and this lovely weekend! We've got Friday-Monday off here, the longest bank holiday weekend this year, I think. Nothing's gonna get me down - not even the filling replacement I had to get earlier, and the fact that my face is still numb and looks odd! Focus on the positives!
> 
> Hope you guys liked the chapter and I'll see you all next week :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Saturday 22 April 2017. Last chapter! Thanks for stopping by. :-)

Long minutes passed. Darhk ignored them entirely, focussing now on his special little portal, now glowing gold-green and spreading like a sickness in the air. His pleased little noises every time it flared made Floyd want to puke. As it was, he could barely move his eyeballs as he tracked Darhk's motions, and he fought the blackness at the edge of his vision. He flicked his eyes to one side, catching a glimpse of the prone form of the Bat. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had put him down. Sooner or later, Floyd would go the same way - unconscious, then dead.

"Fuck..." he managed. Darhk turned to him, surprised.

"You're still alive?" he said, coming down the steps, leisurely as you like. "Wow. Oh, wow. You're _all_ still alive. Even -" He peered over at the Bat, and made a face. "Oh. Even him, yeah. Eh."

Floyd struggled to say something - anything. But his muscles wouldn't obey him, and his lungs screamed at him to stop moving. Darhk lost interest and wandered back to his portal.

"Not long, now," he mused aloud. "I guess I could reveal my nefarious plan, but to be honest, I kinda hate humouring people as much as I love showing off. A terrible conflict, I can assure you."

Floyd wondered if the others were throwing dagger eyes as hard as he was. In any case, they had no effect on Darhk, whose back was turned to them.

"Did you know that Hell is real?" continued Darhk. It seemed as though he were going with the showing off option. "And I don't mean in like, a metaphysical sense - you know, 'hell is other people', or 'we create our own hell.' I mean it literally exists. It's totally a place. _And the throne is empty."_

Darhk shook his shoulders, a little burst of energy filling him up, and he trotted down the steps, circling their bodies. Occasionally the hem of his robe would trail over Floyd's face, which of course incinerated any leftover patience Floyd might have had for the situation.

"So, it turns out the king of hell can just...quit," Darhk continued conversationally. "That's the guy, the main man, the Morning Star - _Lucifer._ Heaven knows what he's up to now. But while the realm empties, the power remains. Yes, that's right, power _I_ plan to harness. The mightiest demons of hell are fighting it out to be the one to get through the portal - it's probably their last chance to get topside, before the paths close for good - and when the biggest, baddest fella climbs through..."

Darhk clicked his fingers, taking the stairs back up to his portal two at a time. 

"Then _I'll_ snatch up their power. Put a collar 'round their neck, a leash in my hand, and then this dimension will be mine. I'll _finally_ be able to create my Utopia."

Floyd could have groaned, had the pressure on his chest allowed it. Great, a megalomaniacal asshole. Who wanted to harness the power of a super-demon, to create heaven on earth. 

Because why the fuck not.

"It's so close now, so close..." murmured Darhk. Floyd didn't have to be looking at him to know he was totally transfixed by the portal; it was hissing and fluctuating, growing larger and larger. Ominous sounds were coming from it - growling, hissing, echoing howls like animals roaring at each other at the bottom of a endless ravine.

"Come to me..." Darhk whispered. "Fight, _win._ Give me your power. _Now._ Come. _Come through the rift..."_

He stopped short. All the sound in the room condensed, until it blipped out of existence. The portal vanished. Quiet reigned for a long moment before a hissing noise started up, and Floyd's eyes squeezed shut, helpless against the searing brightness that was suddenly flooding the room. It was like staring directly into the sun - and the _heat..._

"...wait..." said Darhk. Then the portal exploded.

The weight abruptly lifted from Floyd's chest and he flipped himself over, trying to shield his head with his arms. He could feel the crown of his head searing, the skin beneath the arm protectors practically boiling. Boomerang was shrieking like the baby he was, and Croc was already crawling away, body obviously badly effected by both the light and heat. And Flag...

Ah, dammit. Flag wasn't moving. The hoodoo had clearly knocked him for sixes, and Floyd growled as he crawled closer, finally catching hold of Flag's leg. Slowly but surely, he dragged Flag around the corner, joining a winded Croc and a wild-eyed Boomerang.

"What the fucking fuck?!" shouted Boomerang.

"Yeah!" Floyd shouted back, propping Flag next to Croc. The reptile man bore it with only a faint glare, shoulders stiff. If Floyd had to make a bet, he'd have said that the other man was dehydrated, but then he remembered that there were lizards in the desert too, so how far did that mutation-regression thing go?

"You okay?" he just asked instead. Croc grunted.

"Was too close," he said. "Got singed. Be a'right. It'll peel."

Floyd carefully didn't let on how supremely disgusted he was by that mental image, and just nodded.

"Holy fucking fuck with a fucking cherry on top," breathed Boomerang. "You guys gotta see this..."

He was staring around the corner, and Floyd shuffled his way forward, cautiously leaning out. He nearly blinded himself, but the light was fading, little by little - not growing fainter, exactly, but more like it was drawing in on itself, becoming centered to one point. The heat remained, pulversingly strong. Sweat was pouring off of Floyd, and he blinked it out of his eyes as he peered around. He came to a couple of slow realisations as he did so.

The light wasn't just light, it was fire. And in the fire was a figure, tall and skeletal. But most of all, _familiar._

"Holy shit," he whispered, and Boomerang nodded enthusiastically beside him.

The figure had Darhk pinned with one bony hand, iridescent fire searing into Darhk's clothes and skin.

"No!" Darhk screamed, face contorted with more rage than pain. "You came through _my_ portal! You accepted _my_ terms! _You belong to me!"_

"I ain't belong to no man," said the fiery skeleton, flaming feathers dancing around its head. The voice echoed like all the demons voices echoed; around Floyd's skull, in a different language. Except Floyd could recognise the language, this time.

"You answered my call!" Darhk screamed. The skeleton laughed, picking up Darhk and slowly burning him up.

"See, that's the thing about summoning, _esse!"_ it crowed, ruthlessly consuming Darhk with his fire. "You can make any call you like, but there's no promises on what comes to answer!"

With that said, he let the fire take Darhk - in moments, there wasn't anything left, the heat too severe to leave behind even ash. The skeleton - Floyd could hardly put the name to his lips, because _what if, what if?_ \- shook its head, feathers smoking.

"No," it said. Floyd jumped, but it looked like he wasn't talking to _them_ \- but to something inside himself. "That wasn't the deal. I know. We've _both_ held our ends of the bargain. It's about compromise. I don't care - I won't _let_ you. Yeah, you heard me. What'cha gonna do about it, huh?"

There were a few long, tense moments, where even Floyd was held on tenterhooks, wondering who'd win the internal battle between flame and man, before he became acutely aware of the flames receding. The heat loosened, withdrew, and suddenly Floyd felt like he could breathe properly. Boomerang noticed too, sucking in deep breathes of cool air and flapping his coat around his chest.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the skeleton reduced, took the form of a man. Wide-eyed with disbelief, Floyd watched as a familiar form took shape, dressed only in battered jeans and tattoos.

Chato Santana took a deep breath, stretched out his back, and finally - turned. When he caught sight of them, perched behind the corner, a smile tugged at his mouth. It almost looked...shy.

"Ey, _chicos,"_ he said. "It's...really good to see you guys."

The silence fell, hard. Pins could have dropped, bags of them, and they wouldn't have taken any notice.

"...what the fucking _fuck,"_ said Boomerang, utterly bewildered, and oddly enough...Floyd just started to laugh.

~~~~~

The miasma disappeared within the hour, clearing up like condensation dissipating across a heated windscreen. The soldiers streamed in four hours later – apparently there had been planes ready to go, as soon as the mist cleared up enough. They were unmarked, which told Floyd absolutely everything he needed to know, and soldiers streamed into Gotham, establishing perimeters and generally stressing out the gradually appearing populace. A reconnaissance helicopter landed shortly after, settling in the large strip of land between Zoe’s apartment block and the Wayne building. Lt Edwards climbed out of that one, casting a discerning eye over the area – the Squad was parked inside an ice-cream parlour-slash-coffee shop, mostly just watching Zoe try every single variation of topping. It was better than a trashed bar somewhere in Midway, by far.

Boomerang still, somehow, found the only alcohol in the place – a dusty bottle of JD stuck behind the sink pipe on the second floor toilet. God knows what he was looking for originally, but at least he was being discreet about it. Mixed it with vanilla ice-cream and a helluva lot of pistachios, showing that there were dark parts of the world that even Floyd never knew about.

They had to leave everything half-finished. There wasn’t much arguing, not with the number of soldiers that steadily streamed to their location, once Flag conversed with Lt Edwards. The city was still eerily still, the soldiers barely making a dent into the silence that permeated every level of the surrounding streets.

Nobody stopped him when Zoe clung onto his waist and wouldn’t leave, and he pulled her up into his arms and didn’t let go – no way in hell was he leaving her behind while Gotham was a disorganised mess. Rick and Floyd shared a nod, and then each of the others nodded in turn, serious and silent.

“I’ll make sure she’s safely home, later,” murmured Rick, falling into step beside Floyd as they made their way to the helicopter. “Katana, June, _and_ me.”

Floyd didn’t speak – he couldn’t. He looked at them over the top of his daughter’s head and nodded, tightly, throat too thick to manage words.

They only flew as far as the opposite side of the massive river, bypassing the broken, blackened bridges and landing outside a strip of grey-green military tents, jeeps and soldiers milling about in indiscernible patterns. It took less than a minute for a group of soldiers to convene around the helicopter, ‘supervising’ them as they disembarked.

“Make your way to the mess hall,” one of them barked, herding them as though they weren’t a bunch of highly trained killers with hair-trigger tempers. Floyd let Zoe down, holding her hand in his and swinging it slightly, smiling down on her. He was stopped, abruptly, by a meaty arm to his chest.

"Not you," said one soldier. Floyd looked down at it carefully, then up, slowly, straight into the eyes of the man. Some generic-looking soldier-boy, hopped up on the smell of victory without any of the sweat that went along with it. Floyd's mouth twisted.

Then Flag stepped forward.

"Hands off, soldier," he snapped. "That man helped save Gotham. Show a bit of respect."

The soldier, despite being of lower rank than Flag, just glanced between the two of them, disgust marring his features. Zoe squeezed Floyd’s hand, too tight, and Floyd leaned forward real quick, getting right into the other guy's face.

"You wanna make a problem, man, we can make a problem," he said, real nice, and between that and Flag's glaring, the soldier dropped his arm - and his gaze.

"Debriefing in tent four," he said, sullenly. "I'll escort you."

"I can take him," said Flag immediately.

"No, I have my orders," said the man, snappishly, and then with a mulish look on his face, added: "Sir."

Floyd glanced at Flag.

"I think we both know what that means," he said. Flag nodded grimly, and glared at the other soldier.

"When briefing is done, you 'escort' Mr Lawton to the mess hall," he said. _"That's_ an order. Got it?"

The other man nodded, frowning. Flag stepped in and cupped a hand around his ear.

"I said: _got it?"_

The other man snapped up, executing a salute that was much too precise to be anything but insincere. "Sir! Yes, sir!"

Flag just rolled his eyes. "Right. And don't go getting lost on the way or anything - else me and the _rest_ of my squad might have to come find you."

The soldier didn't reply, but his back did straighten. Floyd smirked, nodding at Flag and pushing Zoe forward, towards Flag and Katana. He gave her a confident smile and a quick nod, not turning until she gave him a watery smile in return. The others nodded at him as well, all crowding around Zoe, blocking her from the view of the other soldiers as they made their way to the mess hall. Floyd watched them go, and when he was ready, he followed the other man to a blank tent, one that looked like every other tent in the whole put-together camp, except this one was somehow designated number four. The soldier waited outside, along with another one who didn't so much as glance at Floyd.

Inside was as he expected; dark, minimalist, and filled with the aura of the devil.

"Mr Lawton," said Amanda Waller, standing beside a table empty of everything except a manila folder and a tablet. "Please take a seat. I'm here to debrief you."

~~~~~

About a half hour had passed, and he hadn't said a single word since he stepped into the tent. When Waller said debrief, it turned out she meant that _she_ was going to do all the talking. Floyd just sat on the metal chair, staring down at his hands, placed calmly over his knees. Waller hadn't spoken once she'd finished her explanation.

"You knew," he said, finally. "You knew. The whole damn time."

Waller didn't answer. Her vast experience in human nature was obviously telling her that Floyd wasn't asking a question.

"There are things even I can't do anything about, Mr Lawton," she said, after a long silence. "This was one such situation. I've been aware of Damien Darhk's machinations, but I had thought that the efforts of Gotham's vigilante would have been enough to take care of it."

Floyd snorted. Waller's lips twitched; a rare moment of solidarity.

"Precisely," she continued. "Every manoeuvre I tried to make, every single step in any direction - everything was blocked. Darhk had somehow convinced - possibly by sorcery, although knowing some of the men in charge, it might not have been - all the necessary people that Gotham was a necessary sacrifice for a world at war."

"A world at war, huh?" Floyd raised an eyebrow. "And who were they afraid of this time, if all the aliens are in the ground? Immigrants?"

Waller's mouth just pinched with the faintest edge of exasperation; to Floyd's amazement, it didn't even seem to be directed at _him._ "In any case - no matter what I tried to do, I was stopped. Damn near lost my head once or twice; my hands were tied by higher powers."

"Higher powers?" Floyd nearly laughed. "I thought _you_ were the highest power?"

"Oh no, Mr Lawton," replied Waller, almost _purring._ "My powers are _very_ low indeed."

Floyd glanced around at the hastily-erected pre-frab, dressed in no-nonsense metal furniture and sparse electric lighting. She carried the prison wherever she went; and with it, him, and the others.

"But you knew," he said. "You knew about everything that was going on. With Zoe, with Flag, with Moon, with our breakout. You planned all of that. We were your last-ditch effort - and we actually _won._ Just like last time. The world's last hope - a bunch of murdering misfits. Damn, that's funny."

Waller shifted away from the table, slowly, like she had all the time in the world, and she held her arms behind her back. With Floyd sitting down, and her standing, the power difference couldn't have been more stark - even with all the pieces currently squirreled away in his armour, Floyd knew that he'd never beat her, not really, not in a way that actually mattered. And she knew it, too.

"In light of recent events, it's become apparent that mere incarceration is an insufficient method of curbing antisocial and dangerous behaviour amongst inmates," Waller said, lightly, like Floyd hadn't spoken at all. She wasn't even looking at him. "On the advice of experts in the field of rehabilitory psychiatry, we've decided that certain qualifying inmates require an extra level of interactive therapy in order to curb and, eventually, eradicate wilful disregard of sociological expectations and requirements."

Floyd just stared at her, dully, not even bothering to make some kind of smartass remark. Two could play at her game, because even if you didn't know the rules and closed your eyes against the violence, you were playing it anyway. Amanda Waller's chessboard was as inexorable as death - or possibly even moreso, given Santana's impressive return.

But Waller didn't speak. She just levelled a look at him, filled with significance, so his brain reluctantly filtered a few key words for him, firing a couple of neurons so that he'd blink, and slowly connect the dots.

"...Rehabilitory...psychiatry..." he said, sitting up slowly. "Interactive therapy? What...?"

He didn't finish his question, letting it hang in the air. Waller titled her head, eyes watching him like some kind of giant cat, camouflaged in the jungle with a neat business suit and pearls in her ears.

"I'm giving you more time with your daughter," she finally explained. "Longer visitation hours. Freedom to visit during family events - recitals, Christmas plays. Graduation."

He damn near jumped out of the chair, but managed to restrain himself at the last moment. The huge twitch, however, scooted his chair back a good five inches, the metal screeching across the floor. She looked on, impassive against his rising suspicion.

"There's a price," he said, immediately. "There's always a price."

"Yes," she agreed. "And I think we both know you'll pay it."

He glared at her, gritting his teeth at her impenetrable calmness.

"Why?" he snapped. "I never asked you for any favours. I didn't ask you for a damn thing, this time."

"Exactly, Mr Lawton," she replied, leaning forward a little against the table. He'd never seen such focussed eyes, so dark a brown they were nearly black; it felt like he was being sucked into them, bit by bit, like a black hole.

_"...why."_

She stared him down, narrowing her eyes - but, amazingly, actually decided to start explaining.

"I gave you no orders," she said. "I gave you no backup. No information. No incentive. I couldn't. Darhk's spies were everywhere, three times as deep as mine, in every level of the government. _Something_ was going down in Gotham. It's been building for months, but there was never anything I could put my finger on."

"You knew something was wrong with Zoe's letters," said Floyd. "Before even I did. That's why you sent Katana."

Waller inclined her head. "I sent her undercover. Katana is an external agent who's sworn to my cause - I could trust her."

Floyd scoffed. "You? Trust somebody?"

Waller simply gave a little half-smile, something tight and sarcastic. "You have to be able to trust people, Mr Lawton. Even if it's only a trust that they'll follow their own needs and personality to a logical conclusion."

"People aren't robots," said Floyd. "You can't time them."

"Don't talk crap, Lawton," said Waller, but there was no heat in the words, just the iron-heavy bell of truth. "Of course you can. Society is a construct, operating under certain rules. We make our own cages, our own programming. People follow instinct, but instinct is usually just another word for _familiarity._ You can time people like a Cuckoo clock. I've built my career on the patterns of human beings."

"How about magic, and metas?" said Floyd, smirking a little. But Waller just returned the smirk, with extra shark bite.

"They're human as well," she replied. "No matter what the purists think. Superman was, too. for all he was born Kryptonian. You get raised on earth, you get indoctrinated with our values. That's how it works."

"There's a helluva lot of values to choose from, though," said Floyd. "Otherwise we wouldn't have prison."

Waller extended her smirk by a whole extra two millimeters. "Now you're getting it."

Floyd just chewed on the inside of his mouth, watching her for a moment. "...we're getting off topic."

"That we are." She straightened. "In the mission to Gotham, you had absolutely nothing except for the weapons you brought with you. Somehow, against an impossible enemy and with minimal casualties, you managed to contain and exterminate the extinction-level threat that was budding."

Floyd eyed her suspiciously. "...yeah? So we did the mission. So what?"

"Yes," she agreed. "Except that there was no mission. Everything you did, you did of your own volition. With the choice between saving yourself and saving the world, you chose to risk yourself and everything you care about to put an end to a dangerous threat."

"You would have blown my head off otherwise," said Floyd flatly.

"And how was I supposed to do that if I'm dead?" countered Waller. "Darhk was a sorcerer - a powerful one, right on the edge of his penultimate plan. Are you telling me that it hadn't occurred to you that you could ask him to remove your bomb, in return for your skills? Even excepting that, June Moon is quickly becoming adept at magic - you didn't even _think_ to bargain for your freedom, did you?"

Floyd remained silent. He was kicking himself, but also, deep down, he knew the answer as to why his brain hadn't made the connection, when just a few months ago he would have done anything - anything - to be free of this place. And Waller knew, too.

Zoe's success was dependent on Floyd working for Waller. Her improving grades, her college prospects, her budding aptitudes for art, music, and science - it all went down the toilet. No more new clothes and modest apartment in the nice part of town, where the cops didn't grab black kids walking home from school or work and stuff them in the back of their cars, never to be seen alive again; it’d be back to a place where there were drug dealers and cruisers and drive-bys and hookers and no safety at all for a little girl with less than half a parent to keep an eye on her. Zoe, Zoe, Zoe, the only reason he'd ever feel bad about anything in his whole life, because she was the only thing that made life real.

"Why'd you send Katana?" he asked, quietly. There - there - a micro-infinitesimal crease between her eyebrows; hesitation. The next answer might actually have a shot at being the truth.

"I could rely on Katana," she replied. "I have her number. She's discrete, and extremely capable."

_"...and..?"_

"...and both her children were murdered by her brother in law," said Waller, almost reluctantly. But Floyd thought it was more the fact that she hated giving away information that tipped away the power on her side, rather than guilt at revealing someone else's secrets. "She has more of a reason even than you to protect an innocent child from harm."

Floyd just turned that over in his head, rolling his shoulders a little bit.

"So what you're saying, essentially," he said, finally. "Is that you sent one of your most valuable soldiers to protect my little girl."

Waller was silent.

"Not to investigate Darhk," continued Floyd. "Not to find out what was going on. You sent her to protect Zoe. Just Zoe. Have I got that right?"

"Anything happens to your daughter and I lose my only bargaining chip," snapped Waller. "It was too risky to investigate Darhk - his spies were everywhere, they would have caught her. My only option at the time was to hold on the assets I _did_ have. It's obvious enough that you don't care if you live or die. You only take jobs because of her - what doesn't go into costs goes into a trust fund for her."

"Right, right," said Floyd. "Don't worry. I'm sure plenty of people have made the mistake of thinking you have a heart. You did something that made good strategic sense. The fact that it was kind was just a bonus, right? Or maybe a negative. Don't want people thinking you were weak for innocent lives, huh?"

Waller's silence grew icy, so Floyd snowploughed through it.

"Okay, so you can time people, right?" he said, sitting forward. "You can predict them. Train their brains without them realising. We got a mission that wasn't a mission and actively chose to do the right thing instead of serving our own interests. We even came back to this shithole like good little prisoners. And now you're rewarding us - I mean, I _assume_ you're rewarding _all_ of us - for not being total assholes."

"What's your point, Lawton?" asked Waller, narrowing her eyes.

"What, no Mr?" he replied. "A'right, a'right. Anyway, you know what all of that says to me?"

"Enlighten me."

"It says that you _couldn't_ time us," he said, grinning. "It was fifty-fifty, at least, on which way we'd go. You couldn't predict what we'd do. You had an idea, but you couldn't be sure. We made the right choice, on our own, and now you're rewarding us. Like trained dogs."

"You are trained dogs," said Waller, smooth as satin.

"Maybe," said Floyd. "Maybe not. Visitation, huh?"

"That's right. If you manage not to piss me off any more than you already have."

"That's nice. And what are the others getting?"

She stared him down. "That's classified."

He grinned. "Aw, come. At least tell me you're getting Boomerang a proper bath. Whatever the hell that coat is, it stinks him up _fast."_

Her lips didn't so much as twitch. He continued.

"So, interactive therapy? Rehabilitory psychiatry? That what it's gonna say on the files?"

"Correct. And the benefits associated with such will be applied, _if_ you continue to behave yourselves within the walls of Belle Reve, and conduct yourselves appropriately on assigned missions."

"Or even unassigned ones, huh?" Floyd crossed his arms. "You didn't bank on Flag skipping to Gotham, did you? But that worked out in the end, anyway. He gave you a viable excuse to get into the city, in case anybody tries to complain later. And he showed another inch of belly for you to stick a knife in."

"That's right." She raised an eyebrow at him. "And so did you."

He didn't like the way Waller was looking at him. So he just grunted noncommittally and tightened his arms.

"Are we done here?" he asked. "I got my extended visitation, my family events, and the others have whatever carrot you're waving at them."

"We're done," said Waller, and he made to stand. "Just one last thing."

He sat back with a huff and waited while she sized him up, crossing her own arms.

"I'll tell you a secret, Mr Lawton," she said, low. "You're right. I _did_ underestimate you, and the others. I couldn't be sure if you would make the right decision - if you would turn around and screw over a helluva lot of innocent people just to get free. You're a leader, Mr Lawton, in a way that the good Colonel isn't. And in working together, you both create something that even I never envisioned for this project."

"What are you going on about?" asked Floyd, eyeing her suspiciously. Speeches were never a good sign. They usually just meant that somebody was trying to prep somebody else to do something they _really_ didn't wanna do.

"You know your team now, Mr Lawton," she continued. "You know you can trust them, and that they can trust you. You understand their strengths, their weaknesses, and although your personalities may clash - frequently - in the end they look to you for leadership."

"I ain't a leader," said Floyd, flatly. Waller smirked again - he'd be willing to bet she'd never smiled properly in her whole damn life.

"You're a born leader," she said. "You and Flag both, like two sides of a coin. You draw people to you, and you don't require orders to think. You have a _lot_ of potential, a _lot._ I think if you gave it your best shot, your team could be more than a Suicide Squad. It could even be more than a Taskforce X. You have the skills to make this world a better place."

"Yeah - just not the mindset or inclination," said Floyd.

"Not yet," Waller countered lightly. "But you're getting there. Just think - about the kind of world you want to leave your daughter in, Mr Lawton. And I know you'll come to the same conclusion I have. Dismissed."

Floyd stared at her for a moment before he pushed himself off the chair and left without another word.

Goddamn. Goddamn crazy ladies tryna emotionally manipulate _him_ into being a good little leader, _goddamn._ He didn't need this bullshit, he didn't need - 

The soldiers that had brought him to briefing now escorted him back to a mess hall, where the smell of prison-typical food - overcooked vegetables and the barest hint of deep-fried food - somehow made his stomach growl. The hall was empty except for a little crowd of people in the far end - everybody was there, the whole Squad, crowding around in seats at a fold-out table. And right in the centre, like a little sun in a grubby solar system, was Zoe, a workbook spread out in front of her. He stopped dead, the scene oddly - really oddly - domestic. Flag glanced up, smiled, and gave a serious nod to the guards behind him. They left, and Flag approached.

"How was debriefing?" he asked, voice low. At the table, Zoe hadn't looked up yet - Floyd couldn't tell what she was looking at, devoting half his attention to her and the other half to Flag's question.

"..fucking weird," he said, finally, and pointed at Zoe. "...what..?"

Flag got a goofy grin on his face, something strange happening to his eyes that Floyd couldn't comprehend. It kinda looked like...pride? Huh?

"Yeah," he said. "Your girl's a trooper. Brought her math workbook in her bag because she figured that laying low involved a lot of staying in one place. Thought she'd use the time to do a bit of homework, keep her mind off the potential stress."

"...are you serious..." Floyd stared at his baby girl, heart swelling up in his chest.

"Yeah, she's really amazing," said Flag, happily, turning to stand next to him and observe the ongoing menagerie. He paused. "...she's actually been getting help from Boomerang."

"...Boomerang."

"Uh, yeah. He's...weirdly good at math."

They watched as Boomerang mimed something with one of his handheld boomerangs, fingers and thumbs outlining invisible angles in the air. Meanwhile, Zoe was nodding seriously, a half-frown on her face. 

"Okay," said Floyd. "That's makes a strange amount of sense. Gotta know angles if you're gonna boomerang anything."

"I guess so, yeah," said Flag, a touch doubtful. Either way, it looked like Zoe was having an okay time, and Boomerang was practically lit up from being able to actually show somebody how his weapons _worked_ \- from experience, Floyd knew they were extremely difficult to master with the level of accuracy Boomerang wielded - so he decided to let them be for a moment.

"Croc actually volunteered to outline some stuff for her biology class," added Flag and now Floyd _had_ to stare.

"Volunteer?" he repeated. _"Biology?"_

Flag grinned, but it was a fond grin, coming from someplace far away. "Hmm. Turns out when he was growing up he read just about everything he could on biology, genetics, biochemistry, just trying to figure out what he had. Diagnosed himself. Remembers a lot of it - he's got an impressive memory."

"I thought he was a crocodile, not an elephant," grumbled Floyd, but it was half-hearted. Christ, he knew that Zoe melted him like an ice cube in the Sahara, but it looked like it was a Zoe-effect as opposed to him just being a total sucker.

He always knew his baby girl was special.

"So, what are you tutoring her in, Flag?" he asked, mostly messing with the other man. But Flag smiled affectionately again, this time directly at Floyd.

"Latin," he said. Floyd crowed.

_"Latin!"_ he exclaimed. "You preppy bitch!"

Flag laughed. "Easy there, Lawton - it's your daughter that's learning it too, you know."

Floyd just chuckled, turning his attention back to the little group, who hadn't paid any notice to his outburst. They looked as comfy as a bunch of people covered in weapons and death could be, cocooning Zoe in a little wall of muscle, dirt, and the slightly dazed expressions of people stuck in the presence of a young child who didn't seem particularly scared of them at all. Katana was sitting stiffly , watching Zoe interact with the others - Junie Moon was slouched in a chair with a thick blanket over her shoulders and a hot cup of something pressed against her lips, a tiny smile peeking up from the rim - Croc slouched with his arms crossed, affecting disinterest but tracking each movement with sharp efficiency - Boomerang with his chair back to front, making enthusiastic arm gestures - Santana, the most tired-looking of them all, watching with a gentle smile as Zoe studiously wrote down notes - and Zoe, Zoe, Zoe -

She looked up. Floyd, honest to god, thought he was gonna cry. Her face transformed with her smile, like the sun breaking through a thick bank of clouds, glittering in uncountable facets of blinding beauty across the surface of a depthless ocean.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, and jumped out of her seat. He dropped to his knees and opened his arms out, distantly glad he wasn't wearing any pieces that she could see.

She flung herself into his arms, hard enough that he gave a little oomph of air, and then he was clutching her to his chest, whispering in her ear how much he loved her, how proud of her he was, how brave and smart she was.

"I'm gonna see more of you, baby," he said, finally, throat thick with unshed tears. "I have it all set up. I promise."

She pulled away, examining him carefully. Her mouth creased down; worried filled her eyes.

"Daddy..." she said. "What did you do?"

He stared. "...what do you mean, sweet heart?"

She swallowed. "You're always giving up things for me," she said, eyes growing more distressed. "You went to prison because of me. I don't want you to give up more, I don't - I don't -"

Floyd's brain clicked, and he put a hand to her face, shushing her. "Oh, sweetie, no, it's okay. It's okay. I didn't make a bargain. My friends and I, we saved Gotham, right? So now we're getting something, like a thank you. Everybody's getting something. I didn't bargain. And you know what, it's only 'cause of you that I got that reward. Because you told me to save the city, and I did, and we did, and my boss knows _we_ did a good job, so I get longer hours with you."

Zoe visibly perked up, even if she was still a bit teary. "...really?"

Floyd smiled. _"Yeah,_ baby, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I get to visit for family events, too! Isn't that great?"

Her face lit up, and her tears disappeared. "Really? Like - like what?"

"Like...Christmas plays, recitals - whatever event your parents are supposed to be at. I'll be there."

Zoe's mouth fell open, like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. She began to smile - but then the smile slowly dropped, and she frowned in thought. Floyd's heart hammered in his chest, and he nearly pulled away - oh god, didn't she want him - she didn't want him there - he was being too clingy, she didn't want -

"Baby?" he said, trying to stop his voice from trembling with dread. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Zoe's face cleared immediately and she gave him a rueful smile.

"Nothing," she said, and added, slyly: "I'm just thinking about all those extra-curriculars I'll have to sign up for, now. _Every_ family event, right?"

Floyd gaped, and then burst into laughter, gathering her up in his arms and swinging her around while she squealed with enthusiasm. He could hear Flag laughing beside him, and out of the corner of his eye saw the others - Boomerang with a dopey expression on his face, Santana chuckling quietly, Junie smiling warmly; even Katana and Croc seemed to have melted slightly, displaying an almost fond look at the antics.

Fuck, this was weird, right? This was weird. His squad mates and team leader were watching him swing his daughter around and around in circles while she laughed helplessly with joy, and previous to that they were taking turns _tutoring_ her. They were killers and thieves and bad, bad people, with terrible, dark pasts and possibly the worst impulse control this side of the ocean -

And they were family, too. If not before, then now.

Zoe had taught him a lot about being a father, and a decent human being. She'd taught him that you could be a bad guy, but a good man; that you could be cruel and kind depending on circumstances, as opposed to these traits being inherent in your being. That family didn't have to be blood - not just for emotional reasons, but because in the end, families were just people thrown together by fate, who had no say in who their parents were, who their siblings were. They mightn't be good people, they mightn't be kind, or patient, or understanding; they just... _were._ Just people, thrown together, trying to put a little meaning into their existence.

And if that didn't define the Squad...then there wasn't a damn thing in any language that _could._

"Come on, baby," he said, grinning from ear to ear. He put Zoe down and took her hand, starting to lead her back to the table. "Let's go finish your homework. I'm sure between all of us, we can figure something out."

Not a bad way to end the night. Not a bad way at all.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for indulging me in this hot mess of a story. It was written to satisfy a specific number of things I wanted - the Squad swapping stories, Zoe melting/bewildering everyone, Chato coming back just because, Lt Edwards alive just because (that man is far too pretty to stay a corpse) a disposable villain (who was entirely taken from the Arrow portrayal as I literally just picked him out of a hat and decided he fit well enough into the so-called plot), and a smooshy ending. Hope you found it even a little bit entertaining! It was almost exclusively written so I could shoehorn in a helluva lot of interaction with Zoe - that girl is the _sweetest_ and no-one, _no-one_ is immune.
> 
> So yeah, thanks for stopping by! I'm still writing almost constantly - I'm currently participating in a Legends of Tomorrow rewrite (different from MY Legends of Tomorrow rewrite, which is still progressing and promises to be far too long for my own good), so if that piques your interest head on over to my tumblr, kako-pumpkin. If you have any questions or comments you can visit me there, or just leave something here! I'm still writing my own LOT fic, called World Line Theory, and that looks to have another 2-3 weeks of work in it, so next updates will probably be middle of May. I'm still plotting out the sequel to As the Days Turn, entitled See the Dawn.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the story, and I'll see you around! :-) :-) :-)

**Author's Note:**

> This story will updated every Saturday. Hope you enjoyed the chapter - consider leaving a comment if so! See you guys next week :-)


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